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ESPECIALLY WITH THE FINEST LINEN

AND THE COSTLIEST LACE."

—p. 1973

From the 'painting by Vierge

JOAN OF NAPLES

THE MAN IN THE IRON MASK

MARTIN GUERRE

VOLUME VI
ILLCSTRATED

P F COLLIER & SON
NEW YORK

Copyright igio
By p. F. Collier & Son

JOAN OF NAPLES
1343-1382

CHAPTER I

IX the night of the 15th of January 1343, while
the inhabitants of Naples lay wrapped in
peaceful slumber, they were suddenly awakened by
the bells of the three hundred churches that this
thrice blessed capital contains. In the midst of
the disturbance caused by so rude a call the first
thought in the mind of all was that the town was
on fire, or that the army of some enemy had
mysteriously landed under cover of night and
would put the citizens to the edge of the sword.
But the doleful, intermittent sounds of all these
bells, which disturbed the silence at regular and
distant intervals, were an invitation to the faithful
to pray for a passing soul, and it was soon evident
that no disaster threatened the town, but that the
king alone was in danger.

Indeed, it had been plain for several days past
that the greatest uneasiness prevailed in Castel

1785 Dumas— Vul. U— A

^•773^4'

CELEBRATED CRIMES

Niiovo; the officers of the crown were assembled
regularly twice a day, and persons of importance,
whose right it was to make their way into the
king's apartments, came out evidently bowed down
with grief. But although the king's death was
regarded as a misfortune that nothing could avert,
yet the whole town, on learning for certain of the
approach of his last hour, was affected with a
sincere grief, easily understood when one learns
that the man about to die, after a reign of thirty-
three years, eight months, and a few days, was
Robert of Anjou, the most wise, just, and glorious
king who had ever sat on the throne of Sicily. And
so he carried with him to the tomb the eulogies
and regrets of all his subjects.

Soldiers would speak with enthusiasm of the long
wars he had waged with Frederic and Peter of
Aragon, against Henry vii and Louis of Bavaria,
and felt their hearts beat high, remembering the
glories of campaigns in Lombardy and Tuscany;
priests would gratefully extol his constant defence
of the papacy against Ghibelline attacks, and the
founding of convents, hospitals, and churches
throughout his kingdom; in the world of letters he
was regarded as the most learned king in Christen-
dom; Petrarch, indeed, would receive the poet's
crown from no other hand, and had spent three
consecutive days answering all the questions that

1786

JOAN OF NAPLES

Robert had deigned to ask him on every topic of
human knowledge. The men of law, astonished
by the wisdom of those laws which now enriched
the Neapolitan code, had dubbed him the Solomon
of their day; the nobles applauded him for pro-
tecting their ancient privileges, and the people were
eloquent of his clemency, piety, and mildness. In
a word, priests and soldiers, philosophers and poets,
nobles and peasants, trembled when they thought
that the government was to fall into the hands of
a foreigner and of a young girl, recalling those
words of Robert, who, as he followed in the funeral
train of Charles, his only son, turned as he reached
the threshold of the church and sobbingly exclaimed
to his barons about him, " This day the crown has
fallen from my head : alas for me ! alas for you ! "

Now that the bells were ringing for the dying
moments of the good king, every mind was full of
these prophetic words: women prayed fervently
to God; men from all parts of the town bent their
steps towards the royal palace to get the earliest
and most authentic news, and after waiting some
moments, passed in exchanging sad reflections, were
obliged to return as they had come, since nothing
that went on in the privacy of the family found its
way outside: the castle was plunged in complete
darkness, the drawbridge was raised as usual, and
the guards were at their post.

1787

CELEBRATED CRIMES

Yet if our readers care to be present at the death
of the nephew of Saint Louis and the grandson of
Charles of Anjou, we may conduct them into the
chamber of the dying man. An alabaster lamp
suspended from the ceiling serves to light the vast
and sombre room, with walls draped in black
velvet sewn with golden fleur-de-lys. Near the
wall which faces the two entrance doors that at this
moment are both shut close, there stands beneath a
brocaded canopy an ebony bed, supported on four
twisted columns carved with symbolic figures. The
king, after a struggle with a violent paroxysm,
has fallen swooning in the arms of his confessor
and his doctor, who each hold one of his dying
hands, feeling his pulse anxiously and exchanging
looks of intelligence. At the foot of the bed stands
a woman about fifty years of age, her hands clasped,
her eyes raised to heaven, in an attitude of resigned
grief: this woman is the queen. No tears dim her
eyes : her sunken cheek has that waxen yellow tinge
that one sees on the bodies of saints preserved by
miracle. In her look is that mingling of calm and
suffering that points to a soul at once tried by
sorrow and imbued with religion. After the lapse
of an hour, while no movement had disturbed the
profound silence which reigned about the bed of
death, the king trembled slightly, opened his eyes,
and endeavoured feebly to raise his head. Then

1788

JOAN OF NAPLES

thanking the physician and priest with a smile,
who had both hastened to arrange his pillows, he
begged the queen to come near, and told her in a
low voice that he would speak with her a moment
alone. The doctor and confessor retired, deeply
bowing, and the king followed them with his eyes
up to the moment when one of the doors closed
behind them. He passed his hand across his brow.
as though seeking to collect his thoughts, and rally-
ing all his forces for the supreme effort, pronounced
these words : —

" What I must say to you, Sancha, has no con-
cern with those two good persons who were here a
moment ago: their task is ended. One has done
all for my body that human science could teach
him, and all that has come of it is that my death
is yet a little deferred ; the other has now absolved
me of all my sins, and assured me of God's for-
giveness, yet cannot keep from me those dread
apparitions which in this terrible hour arise before
me. Twice have you seen me battling with a
superhuman horror. My brow has been bathed
in sweat, my limbs rigid, my cries have been stifled
by a hand of iron. Has God permitted the Evil
Spirit to tempt me? Is this remorse in phantom
shape? These two conflicts I have suffered have
so subdued my strengtli that I can never endure a
third. Listen then, my Sancha, for I have instruc-

1789

CELEBRATED CRIMES

tions to give you on which perhaps the safety of
my soul depends."

" My lord and my master," said the queen in
the most gentle accents of submission, " I am ready
to listen to your orders ; and should it be that God,
in the hidden designs of His providence, has willed
to call you to His glory while we are plunged in
grief, your last wishes shall be fulfilled here on
earth most scrupulously and exactly. But," she
added, with all the solicitude of a timid soul, " pray
suffer me to sprinkle drops of holy water and
banish the accursed one from this chamber, and
let me offer up some part of that service of prayer
that you composed in honour of your sainted
brother to implore God's protection in this hour
when we can ill afford to lose it."

Then opening a richly bound book, she read with
fervent devotion certain verses of the office that
Robert had written in a very pure Latin for his
brother Louis, Bishop of Toulouse, which was in
use in the Church as late as the time of the Council
of Trent.

Soothed by the charm of the prayers he had him-
self composed, the king was near forgetting the
object of the interview he had so solemnly and
eagerly demanded, and letting himself lapse into a
state of vague melancholy, he murmured in a
subdued voice, " Yes, yes, you are right ; pray for

1790

JOAN OF NAPLES

nie, for yon too are a saint, and I am bnt a poor sin-
fnl man."

" Say not so, my lord," interrupted Dofia Sancha;
" you are the greatest, wisest, and most just king
who has ever sat upon the throne of Naples."

" But the throne is usurped," replied Robert in
a voice of gloom ; " you know that the kingdom
belonged to my elder brother, Charles Martel; and
since Charles was on the throne of Hungary, which
he inherited from his mother, the kingdom of
Naples devolved by right upon his eldest son, Car-
obert, and not on me, who am the third in rank of
the family. And I have suffered myself to be
crowned in my nephew's stead, though he was the
only lawful king; I have put the younger branch in
the place of the elder, and for thirty-three years I
have stifled the reproaches of my conscience. True,
I have won battles, made laws, founded churches;
but a single word serves to give the lie to all the
pompous titles showered upon me by the people's
admiration, and this one word rings out clearer in
my ears than all the flattery of courtiers, all the
songs of poets, all the orations of the crowd : — I
am an usurper ! "

" Be not unjust towards yourself, my lord, and
bear in mind that if you did not abdicate in favour
of the rightful heir, it was because you wished to
save the people from the worst misfortunes. More-

1791

CELEBRATED CRIMES

over," continued the queen, with that air of pro-
found conviction that an unanswerable argument
inspires, " you have remained king by the consent
and authority of our Holy Father the sovereign
pontiff, who disposes of the throne as a fief belong-
ing to the Church."

" I have long quieted my scruples thus," replied
the dying man, " and the pope's authority has kept
me silent; but whatever security one may pretend
to feel in one's lifetime, there yet comes a dreadful
solemn hour when all illusions needs must vanish :
this hour for me has come, and now I must appear
before God, the one unfailing Judge."

" If His justice cannot fail, is not His mercy
infinite?" pursued the queen, with the glow of
sacred inspiration. " Even if there were good rea-
son for the fear that has shaken your soul, what
fault could not. be effaced by a repentance so noble ?
Have you not repaired the wrong you may have
done your nephew Carobert, by bringing his
younger son Andre to your kingdom and marrying
him to Joan, your poor Charles's elder daughter?
Will not they inherit your crown? "

" Alas ! " cried Robert, with a deep sigh, " God is
punishing me perhaps for thinking too late of this
just reparation. O my good and noble Sancha,
you touch a chord which vibrates sadly in my heart,
and you anticipate the unhappy confidence I was

1792

JOAN OF NAPLES

about to make. I feel a gloomy presentiment — and
in the hour of death presentiment is prophecy — that
the two sons of my nephew, Louis, who has been
King of Hungary since his father died, and Andre,
whom I desired to make King of Naples, will prove
the scourge of my family. Ever since Andre set
foot in our castle, a strange fatality has pursued
and overturned my projects. I had hoped that if
Andre and Joan were brought up together a tender
intimacy would arise between the two children,
and that the beauty of our skies, our civilisation,
and the attractions of our court would end by
softening whatever rudeness there might be in the
young Hungarian's character; but in spite of my
efforts all has tended to cause coldness, and even
aversion, between the bridal pair. Joan, scarcely
fifteen, is far ahead of her age. Gifted with a
brilliant and mobile mind, a noble and lofty charac-
ter, a lively and glowing fancy, now free and frolic-
some as a child, now grave and proud as a queen,
trustful and simple as a young girl, passionate and
sensitive as a woman, she presents the most striking
contrast to Andre, who, after a stay of ten years
at our court, is wilder, more gloomy, more intract-
able than ever. His cold, regular features, impassive
countenance, and indifference to every pleasure
that his wife appears to love, all this has raised
between him and Joan a barrier of indifference,

1793

CELEBRATED CRIMES

even of antipathy. To the tenderest effusion his
reply is no more than a scornful smile or a frown,
and he never seems happier than when on a pretext
of the chase he can escape from the court. These,
then, are the two, man and wife, on whose heads
my crown shall rest, who in a short space will find
themselves exposed to every passion whose dull
growl is now heard below a deceptive calm, but
which only awaits the moment when I breathe my
last, to burst forth upon them."

" O my God, my God ! " the queen kept repeating
in her grief : her arms fell by her side, like the arms
of a statue weeping by a tomb.

" Listen, Dona Sancha. I know that your heart
has never clung to earthly vanities, and that you
only wait till God has called me to Himself to with-
draw to the convent of Santa Maria della Croce,
founded by yourself in the hope that you might
there end your days. Far be it from me to dissuade
you from your sacred vocation, when I am myself
descending into the tomb and am conscious of the
nothingness of all human greatness. Only grant
me one year of widowhood before you pass on to
your bridal with the Lord, one year in which you
will watch over Joan and her husband, to keep
from them all the dangers that threaten. Already
the woman who was the seneschal's wife and her
son have too much influence over our grand-

1794

JOAN OF NAPLES

daughter; be specially careful, and amid the many
interests, intrigues, and temptations that will sur-
round the young queen, distrust particularly the
affection of Bertrand d'Artois, the beauty of Louis
of Tarentum, and the ambition of Charles of
Durazzo."

The king paused, exhausted by the effort of
speaking; then turning on his wife a supplicating
glance and extending his thin wasted hand, he
added in a scarcely audible voice —

" Once again I entreat you, leave not the court
before a year has passed. Do you promise me? "

" I promise, my lord."

" And now," said Robert, whose face at these
words took on a new animation, " call my confessor
and the physician and summon the family, for the
hour is at hand, and soon I shall not have the
strength to speak my last words."

A few moments later the priest and the doctor
re-entered the room, their faces bathed in tears.
The king thanked them warmly for their care of
him in his last illness, and begged them help to
dress him in the coarse garb of a Franciscan monk,
that God, as he said, seeing him die in poverty,
humility, and penitence, might the more easily grant
him pardon. The confessor and doctor placed upon
his naked feet the sandals worn by mendicant friars,
robed him in a Franciscan frock, and tied the rope

1795

CELEBRATED CRIMES

about his waist. Stretched thus upon his bed, his
brow surmounted by his scant)' locks, with his long
white beard, and his hands crossed upon his breast,
the King of Naples looked like one of those aged
anchorites who spend their lives in mortifying the
flesh, and whose souls, absorbed in heavenly con-
templation, glide insensibly from out their last
ecstasy into eternal bliss. Some time he lay thus
with closed eyes, putting up a silent prayer to God ;
then he bade them light the spacious room as for a
great solemnity, and gave a sign to the two persons
who stood, one at the head, the other at the foot of
the bed. The two folding doors opened, and the
whole of the royal family, with the queen at their
head and the chief barons following, took their
places in silence around the dying king to hear his
last wishes.

His eyes turned toward Joan, who stood next
him on his ris^ht hand, with an indescribable look
of tenderness and grief. She was of a beauty so
unusual and so marvellous, that her grandfather
was fascinated by the dazzling sight, and mistook
her. for an angel that God had sent to console him
on his deathbed. The pure lines of her fine profile,
her great black liquid eyes, her noble brow uncov-
ered, her hair shining like the raven's wing, her
delicate mouth, the whole effect of this beautiful
face on the mind of those who beheld her was that

1796

JOAN OF NAPLES

of a deep melancholy and sweetness, impressing
itself once and for ever. Tall and slender, but with-
out the excessive thinness of some young girls, her
movements had that careless supple grace that recall
the waving of a flower stalk in the breeze. But in
spite of all these smiling and innocent graces one
could yet discern in Robert's heiress a will firm
and resolute to brave every obstacle, and the dark
rings that circled her fine eyes plainly showed that
her heart was already agitated by passions beyond
her years.

Beside Joan stood her younger sister, Marie, who
was twelve or thirteen years of age, the second
daughter of Charles, Duke of Calabria, who had
died before her birth, and whose mother, Marie of
Valois, had unhappily been lost to her from her
cradle. Exceedingly pretty and shy, she seemed
distressed by such an assembly of great personages,
and quietly drew near to the widow of the grand
seneschal, Philippa, surnamed the Catanese, the
princesses' governess, whom they honoured as a
mother. Behind the princesses and beside this lady
stood her son, Robert of Cabane, a handsome young
man, proud and upright, who with his left hand
played with his slight moustache while he secretly
cast on Joan a glance of audacious boldness. The
group was completed by Doha Cancha, the young
chamber woman to the princesses, and by the Count

1797

CELEBRATED CRIMES

of Terlizzi, who exchanged with her many a furtive
look and many an open smile. The second group
was composed of Andre, Joan's husband, and Friar
Robert, tutor to the young prince, who had come
with him from Budapesth, and never left him for
a minute. Andre was at this time perhaps eighteen
years old: at first sight one was struck by the ex-
treme regularity of his features, his handsome,
noble face, and abundant fair hair; but among all
these Italian faces, with their vivid animation, his
countenance lacked expression, his eyes seemed dull,
and something hard and Icy in his looks revealed
his wild character and foreign extraction. His
tutor's portrait Petrarch has drawn for us : crimson
face, hair and beard red, figure short and crooked;
proud in poverty, rich and miserly; like a second
Diogenes, with hideous and deformed limbs barely
concealed beneath his friar's frock.

In the third group stood the widow of Philip,
Prince of Tarentum, the king's brother, honoured
at the court of Naples with the title of Empress of.
Constantinople, a style inherited by her as the
granddaughter of Baldwin ii. Anyone accustomed
to sound the depths of the human heart would at
one glance have perceived that this woman under
her ghastly pallor concealed an implacable hatred,
a venomous jealousy, and an all-devouring ambi-
tion. She had her three sons about her — Robert,

1798

JOAN OF NAPLES

Philip and Louis, the youngest. Had the king
chosen out from among his nephews the hand-
somest, bravest, and most generous, there can be
no doubt that Louis of Tarentum would have
obtained the crown. At the age of twenty-three he
had already excelled the cavaliers of most renown
in feats of arms; honest, loyal, and brave, he no
sooner conceived a project than he promptly carried
it out. His brow shone in that clear light which
seems to serve as a halo of success to natures so
privileged as his ; his fine eyes, of a soft and velvety
black, subdued the hearts of men who could not
resist their charm, and his caressing smile made
conquest sweet. A child of destiny, he had but to
use his will ; some power unknown, some beneficent
fairy had watched over his birth, and undertaken to
smooth away all obstacles, gratify all desires.

Near to him, but in the fourth group, his cousin
Charles of Duras stood and scowled. His mother,
Agnes, the widow of the Duke of Durazzo and
Albania, another of the king's brothers, looked upon
him affrighted, clutching to her breast her two
younger sons, Ludovico, Count of Gravina, and
Robert, Prince of Morea. Charles, pale-faced, with
short hair and thick beard, was glancing with suspi-
cion first at his dying uncle and then at Joan and
the little Marie, then again at his cousins, apparently
so excited by tumultuous thoughts that he could not

1799

CELEBRATED CRIMES

Stand still. His feverish uneasiness presented a
marked contrast with the calm, dreamy face of
Bertrand d'Artois, who, giving precedence to his
father Charles, approached the queen at the foot of
the bed, and so found himself face to face with
Joan. The young man was so absorbed by the
beauty of the princess that he seemed to see nothing
else in the room.

As soon as Joan and Andre, the Princes of
Tarentum and Durazzo, the Counts of Artois, and
Queen Sancha had taken their places round the bed
of death, forming a semicircle, as we have just
described, the vice-chancellor passed through the
rows of barons, who according to their rank were
following closely after the princes of the blood,
and bowing low before the king, unfolded a parch-
ment sealed with the royal seal, and read in a
solemn voice, amid a profound silence : — ■

" Robert, by the grace of God King of Sicily and
Jerusalem, Count of Provence, Forcalquier, and
Piedmont, Vicar of the Holy Roman Church, here-
by nominates and declares his sole heiress in the
kingdom of Sicily on this side and the other side
of the strait, as also in the counties of Provence,
Forcalquier, and Piedmont, and in all his other
territories, Joan, Duchess of Calabria, elder daugh-
ter of the excellent lord Charles, Duke of Calabria,
Df illustrious memory,

1800

JOAN OF NAPLES

" Moreover, he nominates and declares the hon-
ourable lady Marie, younger daughter of the late
Duke of Calabria, his heiress in the county of Alba
and in the jurisdiction of the valley of Grati and
the territory of Giordano, with all their castles and
dependencies ; and orders that the lady thus named
receive them in fief direct from the aforesaid
duchess and her heirs; on this condition, however,
that if the duchess give and grant to her illustrious
sister or to her assigns the sum of 10,000 ounces of
gold by way of compensation, the county and
jurisdiction aforesaid shall remain in the possession
of the duchess and her heirs.

" Moreover, he wills and commands, for private
and secret reasons, that the aforesaid lady Marie
shall contract a marriage with the very illustrious
prince, Louis, reigning King of Hungary. And in
case any impediment should appear to this marriage
by reason of the union said to be already arranged
and signed between the King of Hungary and the
King of Bohemia and his daughter, our lord the
king commands that the illustrious lady Marie shall
contract a marriage with the elder son of the mighty
lord Don Juan, Duke of Normandy, himself the
elder son of the reigning King of France."

At this point Charles of Durazzo gave Marie a
singularly meaning look, which escaped the notice
of all present, their attention being absorbed by the

1801

CELEBRATED CRIMES

reading- of Robert's will. The young girl herself,
from the moment when she first heard her own
name, had stood confused and thunderstruck, with
scarlet cheeks, not daring to raise her eyes.

The vice-chancellor continued : —

" Moreover, he has willed and commanded that
the counties of Forcalquier and Provence shall in
all perpetuity be united to his kingdom, and shall
form one sole and inseparable dominion, whether
or not there be several sons or daughters or any
other reason of any kind for its partition, seeing
that this union is of the utmost importance for the
security and common prosperity of the kingdom
and counties aforesaid.

" Moreover, he has decided and commanded that
in case of the death of the Duchess Joan — which
God avert! — without lawful issue of her body, the
most illustrious lord Andre, Duke of Calabria, her
husband, shall have the principality of Salerno,
with the title fruits, revenues, and all the rights
thereof, together with the revenue of 2000 ounces
of gold for maintenance.

" Moreover, he has decided and ordered that the
Queen above all, and also the venerable father Don
Philip of Cabassole, Bishop of Cavaillon, vice-chan-
cellor of the kingdom of Sicily, and the magnificent
lords Philip of Sanguineto, seneschal of Provence,
Godfrey of Marsan, Count of Squillace, admiral

1802

JOAN OF NAPLES

of the kingdom, and Charles of Artois, Count of
Aire, shall be governors, regents, and administra-
tors of the aforesaid lord Andre and the aforesaid
ladies Joan and Marie, until such time as the duke,
the duchess, and the very illustrious lady Marie
shall have attained their twenty-fifth year," etc. etc.

When the vice-chancellor had finished reading,
the king sat up, and glancing round upon his fair
and numerous family, thus spoke: —

" My children, you have heard my last wishes.
I have bidden you all to my deathbed, that you may
see how the glory of the world passes away. Those
whom men name the great ones of the earth have
more duties to perform, and after death more
accounts to render : it is in this that their greatness
lies. I have reigned thirty-three years, and God
before whom I am about to appear, God to whom
my sighs have often arisen during my long and
painful life, God alone knows the thoughts that
rend my heart in the hour of death. Soon shall I
be lying in the tomb, and all that remains of me
in this world will live in the memory of those who
pray for me. But before I leave you for ever, you,
oh, you who are twice my daughters, whom I have
loved with a double love, and you my nephews who
have had from me all the care and affection of a
father, promise me to be ever united in heart and
in wish, as indeed you are in my love. I have lived

1803

CELEBRATED CRIMES

longer than your fathers, I the eldest of all, and
thus no doubt God has wished to tighten the bonds
of your affection, to accustom you to live in one
family and to pay honour to one head. I have
loved you all alike, as a father should, without
exception or preference. I have disposed of my
throne according to the law of nature and the inspi-
ration of my conscience. Here are the heirs of the
crown of Naples; you, Joan, and you, Andre, will
never forget the love and respect that are due
between husband and wife, and mutually sworn by
you at the foot of the altar; and you, my nephews
all, my barons, my officers, render homage to your
lawful sovereigns; Andre of Hungary, Louis of
Tarentum, Charles of Durazzo, remember that you
are brothers; woe to him who shall imitate the
perfidy of Cain! May his blood fall upon his own
head, and may he be accursed by Heaven as he is
by the mouth of a dying man ; and may the blessing
of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit descend
upon that man whose heart is good, when the Lord
of mercy shall call to my soul Himself! "

The king remained motionless, his arms raised,
his eyes fixed on heaven, his cheeks extraordinarily
bright, while the princes, barons, and officers of
the court proffered to Joan and her husband the
oath of fidelity and allegiance. When it was the
turn of the Princes of Duras to advance, Charles

1804

JOAN OF NAPLES

disdainfully stalked past Andre, and bending his
knee before the princess, said in a loud voice, as he
kissed her hand —

" To you, my cjueen, I pay my homage."

All looks were turned fearfully towards the
dying man, but the good king no longer heard.
Seeing him fall back rigid and motionless, Dona
Sancha burst into sobs, and cried in a voice choked
with tears —

" The king is dead ; let us pray for his soul."

At the very same moment all the princes hurried
from the room, and every passion hitherto sup-
pressed in the presence of the king now found its
vent like a mighty torrent breaking through its
banks.

"Long live Joan! " Robert of Cabane, Louis of
Tarentum, and Bertrand of Artois were the first to
exclaim, while the prince's tutor, furiously break-
ing through the crowd and apostrophising the
various members of the council of regency, cried
aloud in varying tones of passion, " Gentlemen, you
have forgotten the king's wish already; you must
cry, 'Long live Andre!' too"; then, wedding
example to precept, and himself making more noise
than all the barons together, he cried in a voice of
thunder —

" Long live the King of Naples! "

But there was no echo to his cry, and Charles of
1805

CELEBRATED CRIMES

Durazzo, measuring the Dominican with a terrible
look, approached the queen, and taking her by the
hand, shd back the curtains of the balcony, from
which was seen the square and the town of Naples.
So far as the eye could reach there stretched an
immense crowd, illuminated by streams of light,
and thousands of heads were turned upward
towards Castel Nuovo to gather any news that
might be announced. Charles respectfully drawing
back and indicating his fair cousin with his hand,
cried out —

" People of Naples, the King is dead : long live
the Queen ! "

" Long live Joan, Queen of Naples ! " replied the
people, with a single mighty cry that resounded
through every quarter of the town.

The events that on this night had followed each
other with the rapidity of a dream had produced
so deep an impression on Joan's mind, that, agitated
by a thousand different feelings, she retired to her
own rooms, and shutting herself up in her cham-
ber, gave free vent to her grief. So long as the
conflict of so many ambitions waged about the
tomb, the young queen, refusing every consolation
that was offered her, wept bitterly for the death
of her grandfather, who had loved her to the point
of weakness. The king was buried with all solem-
nity in the church of Santa Chiara, which he had

1806

JOAN OF NAPLES

himself founded and dedicated to the Holy Sacra-
ment, enriching it with magnificent frescoes by
Giotto and other precious relics, among which is
shown still, behind the tribune of the high altar,
two columns of white marble taken from Solomon's
temple. There still lies Robert, represented on his
tomb in the dress of a king and in a monk's frock,
on the right of the monument to his son Charles,
the Duke of Calabria.

1807

CHAPTER II

AS soon as the obsequies were over, Andre's
tutor hastily assembled the chief Hungarian
lords, and it was decided in a council held in the
presence of the prince and with his consent, to send
letters to his mother, Elizabeth of Poland, and his
brother, Louis of Hungary, to make known to them
the purport of Robert's will, and at the same time
to lodge a complaint at the court of Avignon against
the conduct of the princes and people of Naples in
that they had proclaimed Joan alone Queen of
Naples, thus overlooking the rights of her husband,
and further to demand for him the pope's order for
Andre's coronation. Friar Robert, who had not
only a profound knowledge of the court intrigues,
but also the experience of a philosopher and all a
monk's cunning, told his pupil that he ought to
profit by the depression of spirit the king's death
had produced in Joan, and ought not to suffer her
favourites to use this time in influencing her by
their seductive counsels.

But Joan's ability to receive consolation was quite
as ready as her grief had at first been impetuous :

1808

JOAN OF NAPLES

the sobs which seemed to be breaking her heart
ceased all at once; new thoughts, more gentle, less
lugubrious, took possession of the young queen's
mind; the trace of tears vanished, and a smile lit
up her liquid eyes like the sun's ray following on
rain. This change, anxiously awaited, was soon
observed by Joan's chamberwoman : she stole to
the queen's room, and falling on her knees, in
accents of flattery and affection, she offered her first
congratulations to her lovely mistress. Joan opened
her arms and held her in a lonsf embrace ; for Dofia
Cancha was far more to her than a lady-in-waiting;
she was the companion of infancy, the depositary
of all her secrets, the confidante of her most private
thoughts. One had but to glance at this young girl
to understand the fascination she could scarcely
fail to exercise over the queen's mind. She had a
frank and smiling countenance, such as inspires
confidence and captivates the mind at first sight.
Her face had an irresistible charm, with clear blue
eyes, warm golden hair, mouth bewitchingly turned
up at the corners, and delicate little chin. Wild,
happy, light of heart, pleasure and love were the
breath of her being; her dainty refinement, her
charming inconstancies, all made her at sixteen as
lovely as an angel, though at heart she was corrupt.
The whole court was at her feet, and Joan felt more
affection for her than for her own sister.

1809

CELEBRATED CRIMES

" Well, my dear Cancha," she murmured, with a
sigh, " you find me very sad and very unhappy ! "

" And you find me, fair queen," rephed the con-
fidante, fixing an admiring look on Joan, — " you
find me just the opposite, very happy that I can lay
at your feet before anyone else the proof of the
joy that the people of Naples are at this moment
feeling. Others perhaps may envy you the crown
that shines upon your brow, the throne which is
one of the noblest in the world, the shouts of this
entire town that sound rather like worship than
homage ; but I, madam, I envy you your lovely black
hair, your dazzling eyes, your more than mortal
grace, which make every man adore you."

" And yet you know, my Cancha, I am much to
be pitied both as a queen and as a woman: when
one is fifteen a crown is heavy to wear, and I have
not the liberty of the meanest of my subjects — I
mean in my affections ; for before I reached an age
when I could think I was sacrificed to a man whom
I can never love."

" Yet, madam," replied Cancha in a more insin-
uating voice, " in this court there is a young cavalier
who might by virtue of respect, love, and devotion
have made you forget the claims of this foreigner,
alike unworthy to be our king and to be your
husband."

The queen heaved a heavy sigh.
1810

JOAN OF NAPLES

"When did you lose your skill to read my heart ? "
she cried. " Must I actually tell you that this love
is making me wretched? True, at the very first
this unsanctioned love was a keen joy: a new life
seemed to wake within my heart ; I was drawn on,
fascinated by the prayers, the tears, and the despair
of this man, by the opportunities that his mother
so easily granted, she whom I had always looked
upon as my own mother; I have loved him . . . O
my God, I am still so young, and my past is so un-
happy. At times strange thoughts come into my
mind : I fancy he no longer loves me, that he never
did love me; I fancy he has been led on by ambi-
tion, by self-interest, by some ignoble motive, and
has only feigned a feeling that he has never really
felt. I feel myself a coldness I cannot account
for ; in his presence I am constrained, I am troubled
by his look, his voice makes me tremble : I fear
him; I would sacrifice a year of my life could I
never have listened to him."

These words seemed to touch the young confi-
dante to the very depths of her soul ; a shade of
sadness crossed her brow, her eyelids dropped, and
for some time she answered nothing, showing
sorrow rather than surprise. Then, lifting her head
gently, she said, with visible embarrassment —

" I should never have dared to pass so severe a
judgment upon a man whom my sovereign lady has

1811

CELEBRATED CRIMES

raised above other men by casting upon him a look
of kindness; but if Robert of Cabane has deserved
the reproach of inconstancy and ingratitude, if he
has perjured himself like a coward, he must indeed
be the basest of all miserable beings, despising a
happiness which other men might have entreated of
God the whole time of their life and paid for
through eternity. One man I know, who weeps
both night and day without hope or consolation,
consumed by a slow and painful malady, when one
word might yet avail to save him, did it come from
the lips of my noble mistress."

" I will not hear another word," cried Joan, sud-
denly rising; "there shall be no new cause for
remorse in my life. Trouble has come upon me
through my loves, both lawful and criminal ; alas !
no longer will I try to control my awful fate, I will
bow my head without a murmur. I am the queen,
and I must yield myself up for the good of my
subjects."

" Will you forbid me, madam," replied Dona
Cancha m a kind, affectionate tone, — " will you
forbid me to name Bertrand of Artois in your pres-
ence, that unhappy man, with the beauty of an'
angel and the modesty of a girl? Now that you are
queen and have the life and death of your subjects
in your own keeping, will you feel no kindness
towards an unfortunate one whose only fault is to

1812

JOAN OF NAPLES

adore you, who strives with all his mind and
strength to bear a chance look of yours without
dying of his joy? "

" I have struggled hard never to look on him,"
cried the queen, urged by an impulse she was not
strong enough to conquer: then, to efface the im-
pression that might well have been made on her
friend's mind, she added severely, " I forbid you to
pronounce his name before me; and if he should
ever venture to complain, I bid you tell him from
me that the first time I even suspect the cause of his
distress he will be banished for ever from my
presence."

" Ah, madam, dismiss me also ; for I shall never
be strong enough to do so hard a bidding: the un-
happy man who cannot awake in your heart so much
as a feeling of pity may now be struck down by
yourself in your wrath, for here he stands; he has
heard your sentence, and come to die at your
feet."

The last words were spoken in a louder voice, so
that they might be heard from outside, and
Bertrand of Artois came hurriedly into the room
and fell on his knees before the queen. For a long
time past the young lady-in-waiting had perceived
that Robert of Cabane had, through his own fault,
lost the love of Joan ; for his tyranny had indeed
become more unendurable to her than her husband's.

1813

CELEBRATED CRIMES

Dona Cancha had been quick enough to perceive
that the eyes of her young mistress were wont to
rest with a kind of melancholy gentleness on
Bertrand, a young man of handsome appearance
but with a sad and dreamy expression ; so when she
made up her mind to speak in his interests, she was
persuaded that the queen already loved him. Still, a
bright colour overspread Joan's face, and her anger
would have fallen on both culprits alike, when in
the next room a sound of steps was heard, and the
voice of the grand seneschal's widow in conversa-
tion with her son fell on the ears of the three young
people like a clap of thunder. Doiia Cancha, pale
as death, stood trembling ; Bertrand felt that he was
lost all the more because his presence compromised
the queen ; Joan only, with that wonderful presence
of mind she was destined to preserve in the most
difficult crises of her future life, thrust the young
man against the carved back of her bed, and con-
cealed him completely beneath the ample curtain:
she then signed to Cancha to go forward and meet
the governess and her son.

But before we conduct into the queen's room
these two persons, whom our readers may remember
in Joan's train about the bed of King Robert, we
must relate the circumstances which had caused the
family of the Catanese to rise with incredible
rapidity from the lowest class of the people to the

1814

JOAN OF NAPLES

highest rank at court. When Doiia Violante of
Aragon, first wife of Robert of Anjou, became the
mother of Charles, who was later on the Duke of
Calabria, a nurse was sought for the infant among
the most handsome women of the people. After
inspecting many women of equal merit as regards
beauty, youth, and health, the princess's choice
lighted on Philippa, a young Catanese woman, the
wife of a fisherman of Trapani, and by condition a
laundress. This young woman, as she washed her
linen on the bank of a stream, had dreamed strange
dreams: she had fancied herself summoned to
court, wedded to a great personage, and receiving
the honours of a great lady. Thus when she was
called to Castel Nuovo her joy was great, for shci
felt that her dreams now began to be realised.
Philippa was installed at the court, and a few
months after she began to nurse the child the fisher-
man was dead and she was a widow. Meanwhile
Raymond of Cabane, the major-domo of King
Charles ii's house, had bought a negro from some
corsairs, and having had him baptized by his own
name, had given him his liberty; afterwards observ-
ing that he was able and intelligent, he had
appointed him head cook in the king's kitchen ; and
then he had gone away to the war. During the
absence of his patron the negro managed his own
affairs at the court so cleverly, that in a short time

1815

CELEBRATED CRIMES

he was able to buy land, houses, farms, silver plat:\
and horses, and could vie in riches with the best in
the kingdom; and as he constantly won higher
favour in the royal family, he passed on from the
kitchen to the wardrobe. The Catanese had also
deserved very well of her employers, and as a
reward for the care she had bestowed on the child,
the princess married her to the negro, and he, as a
wedding gift, was granted the title of knight.
From this day forward, Raymond of Cabane and
Philippa the innndress rose in the world so rapidly
that they had no equal in influence at court. After
the death of Dona Violante, the Catanese became
the intimate friend of Dona Sancha, Robert's
second wife, whom we introduced to our readers at
the beginning of this narrative. Charles, her foster-
son, loved her as a mother, and she was the confi-
dante of his two wives in turn, especially of the
second wife, Marie of Valois. And as the quondam
laundress had in the end learned all the manners
and customs of the court, she was chosen at the
birth of Joan and her sister to be governess and
mistress over the young girls, and at this juncture
Raymond was created major-domo. Finally, Marie
of Valois on her deathbed commended the two
young princesses to her care, begging her to look on
them as her own daughters. Thus Philippa the
Catanese, honoured in future as foster mother of

1816

JOAN OF NAPLES

the heiress to the throne of Naples, had power to
nominate her husband grand seneschal, one of the
seven most important offices in the kingdom, and
to obtain knighthood for her sons. Raymond of
Cabane was buried like a king in a marble tomb
in the church of the Holy Sacrament, and there
he was speedily joined by two of his sons. The
third, Robert, a youth of extraordinary strength
and beauty, gave up an ecclesiastical career, and
was himself made major-domo, his two sisters
being married to the Count of Merlizzi and the
Count of Morcone respectively. This was now the
state of affairs, and the influence of the grand
seneschal's widow seemed for ever established, when
an unexpected event suddenly occurred, causing
such injury as might well suffice to upset the edifice
of her fortunes that had been raised stone by stone
so patiently and slowly : this edifice was now under-
mined and threatened to fall in a single day. It
was the sudden apparition of Friar Robert, who
followed to the court of Rome his young pupil,
who from infancy had been Joan's destined hus-
band, which thus shattered all the designs of the
Catanese and seriously menaced her future. The
monk had not been slow to understand that so long
as she remained at the court, Andre would be no
more than the slave, possibly even the victim, of his
wife. Thus all Friar Robert's thoughts were

I Si 7 Dumas— Vol. 0— B

CELEBRATED CRIMES

obstinately concentrated on a single end, that of
getting rid of the Catanese or neutralising her
influence The prince's tutor and the governess of
the heiress had but to exchange one glance, icy,
penetrating, plain to read: their looks met like
lightning flashes of hatred and of vengeance. The
Catanese v^^ho felt she was detected, lacked courage
to fight this man in the open, and so conceived the
hope of strengthening her tottering empire by the
arts of corruption and debauchery. She instilled by
degrees into her pupil's mind the poison of vice,
inflamed her youthful imagination with precocious
desires, sowed in her heart the seeds of an uncon-
querable aversion for her husband, surrounded the
poor child with abandoned women, and especially
attached to her the beautiful and attractive Doiia
Cancha, who is branded by contemporary authors
with the name of a courtesan; then summed up all
these lessons in infamy by prostituting Joan to her
own son. The poor girl, polluted by sin before she
knew what life was, threw her whole self into this
first passion with all the ardour of youth, and loved
Robert of Cabane so violently, so madly, that the
Catanese congratulated herself on the success of
her infamy, believing that she held her prey so
fast in her toils that her victim would never attempt
to escape them.

A year passed by before Joan, conquered by her
1818

JOAN OF NAPLES

infatuation, conceived the smallest suspicion of her
lover's sincerity. He, more ambitious than affec-
tionate, found it easy to conceal his coldness under
the cloak of a brotherly intimacy, of blind submis-
sion, and of unswerving devotion; perhaps he
would have deceived his mistress for a longer time
had not Bertrand of Artois fallen madly in love
with Joan. Suddenly the bandage fell from the
young girl's eyes; comparing the two with the
natural instinct of a woman beloved which never
goes astray, she perceived that Robert of Cabane
loved her for his own sake, while Bertrand of
Artois would give his life to make her happy. A
light fell upon her past: she mentally recalled the
circumstances that preceded and accompanied her
earliest love; and a shudder went through her at
the thought that she had been sacrificed to a cow-
ardly seducer by the very woman she had loved most
in the world, whom she had called by the name of
mother.

Joan drew back into herself, and wept bitterly.
Wounded by a single blow in all her affections, at
first her grief absorbed her; then, roused to sudden
anger, she proudly raised her head, for now her
Jove was changed to scorn. Robert, amazed at her
cold and haughty reception of him, following on so
great a love, was stung by jealousy and wounded
pride. He broke out into bitter reproach and

1819

CELEBRATED CRIMES

violent recrimination, and, letting fall the mask,
once for all lost his place in Joan's heart.

His mother at last saw that it was time to inter-
fere : she rebuked her son, accusing him of upsetting
all her plans by his clumsiness.

" As you have failed to conquer her by love,"
she said, " you must now subdue her by fear. The
secret of her honour is in our hands, and she will
never dare to rebel. She plainly loves Bertrand of
Artois, whose languishing eyes and humble sighs
contrast in a striking manner with your haughty
indifference and your masterful ways. The mother
of the Princes of Tarentum, the Empress of Con-
stantinople, will easily seize an occasion of helping
on the princess's love so as to alienate her more and
more from her husband: Cancha will be the go-
between, and sooner or later we shall find Bertrand
at Joan's feet. Then she will be able to refuse us
nothing."

While all this was going on, the old king died,
and the Catanese, who had unceasingly kept on the
watch for the moment she had so plainly foreseen,
loudly called to her son, when she saw Bertrand slip
into Joan's apartment, saying as she drew him after
her —

" Follow me, the queen is ours."

It was thus that she and her son came to be
there. Joan, standing in the middle of the chamber,

1820

JOAN OF NAPLES

pallid, her eyes fixed on the curtams of the bed,
concealed her agitation with a smile, and took one
step forward towards her governess, stooping to
receive the kiss which the latter bestowed upon her
every morning. The Catanese embraced her with
afifected cordiality, and turning to her son, who
had knelt upon one knee, said, pointing to Robert —

" My fair queen, allow the humblest of your
subjects to offer his sincere congratulations and to
lay his homage at your feet."

" Rise, Robert," said Joan, extending her hand
kindly, and with no show of bitterness. " We were
brought up together, and I shall never forget
that in our childhood — I mean those happy days
when we were both innocent — I called you my
brother."

" As you allow me, madam," said Robert, with
an ironical smile, " I too shall always remember the
names you formerly gave me."

" And I," said the Catanese, " shall forget that
I speak to the Queen of Naples, in embracing once
more my beloved daughter. Come, madam, away
with care : you have wept long enough ; we have
long respected your grief. It is now time to show
yourself to these good Neapolitans who bless
Heaven continually for granting them a queen so
beautiful and good; it is time that your favours
rain upon the. heads of your faithful subjects; and

1821

3W334

CELEBRATED CRIMES

my son, who surpasses all in his fidelity, comes first
to ask a favour of you, in order that he may serve
you yet more zealously."

Joan cast on Robert a withering look, and, speak-
ing to the Catanese, said with a scornful air —

" You know, madam, I can refuse your son
nothing."

" All he asks," continued the lady, " is a title
which is his due, and which he inherited from his
father — the title of Grand Seneschal of the Two
Sicilies: I trust, my daughter, you will have no
difficulty in granting this."

"But I must consult the council of regency."

" The council will hasten to ratify the queen's
wishes," replied Robert, handing her the parchment
with an imperious gesture : " you need only speak
to the Count of Artois."

And he cast a threatening glance at the curtain,
which had slightly moved,

"You are right," said the queen at once; and
going up to a table she signed the parchment with
a trembling hand.

" Now, my daughter, I have come in the name
of all the care I bestowed on your infancy, of all
the maternal love I have lavished on you, to implore
a favour that my family will remember for ever-
more."

The queen recoiled one step, crimson with aston-
1822

JOAN OF NAPLES

ishment and rage; but before she could find words
to reply, the lady continued in a voice that betrayed
no feeling —

" I request you to make my son Count of Eboli."

" That has nothing to do with me, madam ; the
barons of this kingdom would revolt to a man if I
were on my own authority to exalt to one of the
first dignities the son of a "

" A laundress and a negro, you would say,
madam?" said Robert, with a sneer. " Bertrand
of Artois would be annoyed perhaps if I had a title
like his."

He advanced a step towards the bed, his hand
upon the hilt of his sword.

" Have mercy, Robert! " cried the queen, check-
ing him: " I will do all you ask."

And she signed the parchment naming him Count
of Eboli.

" And now," Robert went on impudently, " to
show that my new title is not illusory, while you
are busy about signing documents, let me have the
privilege of taking part in the councils of the crown :
make a declaration that, subject to your good
pleasure, my mother and I are to have a delibera-
tive voice in the council whenever an important
matter is under discussion."

" Never ! " cried Joan, turning pale. " Philippa
and Robert, you abuse my weakness and treat your

1823

CELEBRATED CRIMES

queen shamefully. In the last few da^'s I have
wept and suffered continually, overcome by a
terrible grief; I have no strength to turn to business
now. Leave me, I beg: I feel my strength gives
way."

" What, my daughter," cried the Catanese hypo-
critically, "are you feeling unwell? Come and lie
down at once." And hurrying to the bed, she took
hold of the curtain that concealed the Count of
Artois.

The queen uttered a piercing cry, and threw her-
self before Philippa with the fury of a lioness.
"Stop!" she cried in a choking voice; "take the
privilege you ask, and now, if you value your own
life, leave me."

The Catanese and her son departed instantly, not
even waiting to reply, for they had got all they
wanted; while Joan, trembling, ran desperately up
to Bertrand, who had angrily drawn his dagger,
and would have fallen upon the two favourites to
take vengeance for the insults they had offered to
the queen; but he was very soon disarmed by the
lovely shining eyes raised to him in supplication, .
the two arms cast about him, and the tears shed by
Joan : he fell at her feet and kissed them raptu-
rously, with no thought of seeking excuse for his
presence with no word of love, for it was as if
they had loved always: he lavished the tenderest

1824

JOAN OF NAPLES

caresses on her, dried her tears, and pressed his
trembling lips upon her lovely head. Joan began
to forget her anger, her vows, and her repentance:
soothed by the music of her lover's speech, she
returned uncomprehending monosyllables : her
heart beat till it felt like breaking, and once more
she was falling beneath love's resistless spell, when
a new interruption occurred, shaking her roughly
out of her ecstasy; but this time the young count
was able to pass quietly and calmly into a room
adjoining, and Joan prepared to receive her im-
portunate visitor with severe and frigid dignity.

The individual who arrived at so inopportune a
moment was little calculated to smooth Joan's
ruffled brow, being Charles, the eldest son of the
Durazzo family. After he had introduced his fair
cousin to the people as their only legitimate sov-
ereign, he had sought on various occasions to obtain
an interview with her, which in all probability
would be decisive, Charles was one of those men
who to gain their end recoil at nothing; devoured
by raging ambition and accustomed from his earliest
years to conceal his most ardent desires beneath a
mask of careless indifference, he marched ever
onward, plot succeeding plot, towards the object
he was bent upon securing, and never deviated one
hair's-breadth from the path he had marked out,
but only acted with double prudence after each

1825

CELEBRATED CRIMES

victory, and with double courage after each defeat
His cheek grew pale with joy ; when he hated most,
he smiled; in all the emotions of his life, however
strong, he was inscrutable. He had sworn to sit
on the throne of Naples, and long had believed
himself the rightful heir, as being nearest of kin
to Robert of all his nephews. To him the hand of
Joan would have been given, had not the old king
in his latter days conceived the plan of bringing
Andre from Hungary and re-establishing the elder
branch in his person, though that had long since
been forgotten. But his resolution had never for
a moment been weakened by the arrival of Andre
in the kingdom, or by the profound indifference
wherewith Joan, preoccupied with other passion,
had always received the advances of her cousin
Charles of Durazzo, Neither the love of a woman
nor the life of a man was of any account to him
when a crown was weighed in the other scale of
the balance.

During the whole time that the queen had re-
mained invisible, Charles had hung about her apart-
ments, and now came into her presence with
respectful eagerness to inquire for his cousin's
health. The young duke had been at pains to set
off his noble features and elegant figure by a mag-
nificent dress covered with golden fleur-de-lys and
glittering with precious stones. His doublet of

1826

JOAN OF NAPLES

scarlet velvet and cap of the same showed up by
their own splendour the warm colouring of his
skin, while his face seemed illumined by his black
eyes that shone keen as an eagle's.

Charles spoke long with his cousin of the people's
enthusiasm on her accession and of the brilliant
destiny before her; he drew a hasty but truthful
sketch of the state of the kingdom; and while he
lavished praises on the queen's wisdom, he cleverly
pointed out what reforms were most urgently
needed by the country ; he contrived to put so much
warmth, yet so much reserve, into his speech that
he destroyed the disagreeable impression his arrival
had produced. In spite of the irregularities of her
youth and the depravity brought about by her
wretched education, Joan's nature impelled her to
noble action: when the welfare of her subjects was
concerned, she rose above the limitations of her
age and sex, and, forgetting her strange position,
listened to the Duke of Durazzo with the liveliest
interest and the kindliest attention. He then
hazarded allusions to the dangers that beset a young
queen, spoke vaguely of the difficulty in distinguish-
ing between true devotion and cowardly complai-
sance or interested attachment; he spoke of the
ingratitude of many who had been loaded with
benefits, and had been most completely trusted.
Joan, who had just learned the truth of his words

1827

CELEBRATED CRIMES

by sad experience, replied with a sigh, and after a
moment's silence added —

" May God, whom I call to witness for the loyalty
and uprightness of my intentions, may God unmask
all traitors and show me my true friends ! I know
that the burden laid upon me is heavy, and I pre-
sume not on my strength, but I trust that the tried
experience, of those counsellors to whom my
uncle entrusted me, the support of my family, and
your warm and sincere friendship above all,
my dear cousin, will help me to accomplish my
duty."

" My sincerest prayer is that you may succeed,
my fair cousin, and I will not darken with doubts
and fears a time that ought to be given up to joy;
I will not mingle with the shouts of gladness that
rise on all sides to proclaim you queen, any vain
regrets over that blind fortune which has placed
beside the woman whom we all alike adore, whose
single glance would make a man more blest than
the angels, a foreigner unworthy of your love
and unworthy of your throne."

" You forget, Charles," said the queen, putting
out her hand as though to check his words, " Andre
is my husband, and it was my grandfather's will
that he should reign with me."

"Never!" cried the duke indignantly; "he
King of Naples! Nay, dream that the town is

1828

JOAN OF NAPLES

shaken to its very foundations, that the people rise
as one man, that our church bells sound anew
Sicilian vespers, before the people of Naples will
endure the rule of a handful of wild Hungarian
drunkards, a deformed canting monk, a prince
detested by them even as you are beloved ! "

"But why is Andre blamed? What has he
done?"

" What has he done ? Why is he blamed,
madam? The people blame him as stupid, coarse, a
savage; the nobles blame him for ignoring their
privileges and openly supporting men of obscure
birth; and I, madam," — here he lowered his voice, —
" I blame him for making you unhappy."

Joan shuddered as though a wound had been
touched by an unkind hand ; but hiding her emotion
beneath an appearance of calm, she replied in a
voice of perfect indifference —

" You must be dreaming, Charles ; who has given
you leave to suppose I am unhappy ? "

" Do not try to excuse him, my dear cousin,"
replied Charles eagerly; "you will injure yourself
without saving him."

The queen looked fixedly at her cousin, as though
she would read him through and through and find
out the meaning of his words ; but as she could not
give credence to the horrible thought that crossed
her mind, she assumed a complete confidence in her

1829

CELEBRATED CRIMES

cousin's friendship, with a view to discovering his
plans, and said carelessly —

" Well, Charles, suppose I am not happy, what
remedy could you offer me that I might escape my
lot?"

" You ask me that, my dear cousin? Are not all
remedies good when you suffer, and when you wish
for revenge? "

" One must fly to those means that are possible.
Andre will not readily give up his pretensions: he
has a party of his own, and in case of open rupture,
his brother the King of Hungary may declare war
upon us, and bring ruin and desolation upon our
kingdom."

The Duke of Duras faintly smiled, and his coun-
tenance assumed a sinister expression.

" You do not understand me," he said.

" Then explain without circumlocution," said the
queen, trying to conceal the convulsive shudder that
ran through her limbs.

" Listen, Joan," said Charles, taking his cousin's
hand and laying it upon his heart : " can you feel
that dagger? "

" I can," said Joan, and she turned pale.

" One word from you — and "

"Yes?"

" To-morrow you will be free."

"A murder!" cried Joan, recoiling in horror:
1830

JOAN OF NAPLES

" then I was not deceived; it is a-murder that you
have proposed."

"It is a necessity,'' said the duke calmly: "to-
day I advise; later on you will give your orders."

" Enough, wretch ! I cannot tell if you are more
cowardly or more rash: cowardly, because you
reveal a criminal plot feeling sure that I shall never
denounce you; rash, because in revealing it to me
you cannot tell what witnesses are near to hear it
all."

" In any case, madam, since I have put myself in
your hands, you must perceive that I cannot leave
you till I know if I must look upon myself as your
friend or as your enemy."

" Leave me," cried Joan, with a disdainful ges-
ture ; "you insult your queen."

" You forget, my dear cousin, that some day I
may very likely have a claim to your kingdom."

"Do not force me to have you turned out of this
room," said Joan, advancing towards the door.

" Now do not get excited, my fair cousin ; I am
going: but at least remember that I offered you my
hand and you refused it. Remember what I say at
this solemn moment : to-day I am the guilty man ;
some day perhaps I may be the judge."

He went away slowly, twice turning his head,
repeating in the language of signs his menacing
prophecy. Joan hid her face in her hands, and for

1831

CELEBRATED- CRIMES

a long time remained plunged in dismal reflections ;
then anger got the better of all her other feelings,
and she summoned Dofia Cancha, bidding her not to
allow anybody to enter, on any pretext whatsoever.
This prohibition was not for the Count of Artois,
for the reader will remember that he was in the
adjoining room.

1832

CHAPTER III

NIGHT fell, and from the Molo to the Mergel-
Una, from the Capuano Castle to the hill of
St. Elmo, deep silence had succeeded the myriad
sounds that go up from the noisiest city in the
world. Charles of Durazzo, quickly walking away
from the square of the Correggi, first casting one
last look of vengeance at the Castel Nuovo, plunged
into the labyrinth of dark streets that twist and
turn, cross and recross one another, in this ancient
city, and after a quarter of an hour's walking, that
was first slow, then very rapid, arrived at his ducal
palace near the church of San Giovanni al Mare.
He gave certain instructions in a harsh, peremptory
tone to a page who took his sword and cloak. Then
Charles shut himself into his room, without going
up to see his poor mother, v.ho was weeping, sad and
solitary, over her son's ingratitude, and like every
other mother taking her revenge by praying God
to bless him.

The Duke of Durazzo walked up and down his
1833

CELEBRATED CRIMES

room several times like a lion in a cage, counting
the minutes in a fever of impatience, and was on
the point of summoning a servant and renewing
his commands, when two dull raps on the door in-
formed him that the person he was waiting for had
arrived. He opened at once, and a man of about
fifty, dressed in black from head to foot, entered,
humbly bowing, and carefully shut the door behind
him. Charles threw himself into an easy-chair, and
gazing fixedly at the man who stood before him, his
eyes on the ground and his arms crossed upon his
breast in an attitude of the deepest respect and blind
obedience, he said slowly, as though weighing each
word —

" Master Nicholas of Melazzo, have you any re-
membrance left of the services I once rendered
you?"

The man to whom these words were addressed
trembled in every limb, as if he heard the voice of
Satan come to claim his soul; then lifting a look of
terror to his questioner's face, he asked in a voice
of gloom —

" What have I done, my lord, to deserve this
reproach ? "

" It is not a reproach : I ask a simple question."
" Can my lord doubt for a moment of my eternal
gratitude? Can I forget the favours your Excel-
lency showed me? Even if I could so lose my

1834

JOAN OF NAPLES

reason and my memory, are not my wife and son
ever here to remind me that to you we owe all —
our life, our honour, and our fortune? I was
guilty of an infamous act," said the notary, lower-
ing his voice, " a crime that would not only have
brought upon my head the penalty of death, but
which meant the confiscation of my goods, the ruin
of my family, poverty and shame for my only son
• — that very son, sire, for whom I, miserable wretch,
had wished to ensure a brilliant future by means of
my frightful crime: you had in your hands the
proofs of this "

" I have them still."

" And you will not ruin me, my lord," resumed
the notary, trembling; "I am at your feet, your
Excellency; take my life and I will die in torment
without a murmur, but save my son, since you have
been so merciful as to spare him till now; have pity
on his mother ; my lord, have pity ! "

" Be assured," said Charles, signing to him to
rise; " it is nothing to do with your life; that will
come later, perhaps. What I wish to ask of you
now is a much simpler, easier matter."

" My lord, I await your command."

" First," said the duke, in a voice of playful
irony, " you must draw up a formal contract of my
marriage."

" At once, your Excellency."
1835

CELEBRATED CRIMES

" You are to write in the first article that my wife
brings me as dowry the county of Alba, the juris-
diction of Grati and Giordano, with all castles, fiefs,
and lands dependent thereto."

" But, my lord " replied the poor notary,

greatly embarrassed.

" Do you find any difficulty, Master Nicholas ? "

" God forbid, your Excellency, but "

"Well, what is it?"

" Because, if my lord will permit — because there
is only one person in Naples who possesses that
dowry your Excellency mentions."

"And so?"

" And she," stammered the notary, embarrassed
more and more, — " she is the queen's sister."

" And in the contract you will write the name of
Marie of Anjou."

" But the young maiden," replied Nicholas tim-
idly, " whom your Excellency would marry is des-
tined, I thought, under the will of our late king
of blessed memory, to become the wife of the King
of Hungary or else of the grandson of the King
of France."

" Ah, I understand your surprise : you may learn
from this that an uncle's intentions are not always
the same as his nephew's."

" In that case, sire, if I dared — -if my lord would
deign to give me leave — if I had an opinion I might

1836

JOAN OF NAPLES

give, I would humbly entreat your Excellency to
reflect that this would mean the abduction of a
minor."

" Since when did you learn to be scrupulous, Mas-
ter Nicholas? "

These words were uttered with a glance so terri-
ble that the poor notary was crushed, and had
hardly the strength to reply —

" In an hour the contract will be ready."

" Good: we agree as to the first point," continued
Charles, resuming his natural tone of voice, " You
now will hear my second charge. You have known
the Duke of Calabria's valet for the last two years
pretty intimately?"

" Tommaso Pace; why, he is my best friend."

" Excellent. Listen, and remember that on your
discretion the safety or ruin of your family depends.
A plot will soon be on foot gainst the queen's hus-
band ; the conspirators no doubt will gain over An-
dre's valet, the man you call your best friend;
never leave him for an instant, try to be his shadow ;
day by day and hour by hour come to me and report
the progress of the plot, the names of the plotters."

" Is this all your Excellency's command? "

"All."

The notary respectfully bowed, and withdrew to
put the orders at once into execution. Charles spent
the rest of that night writing to his uncle the Car-

1837

CELEBRATED CRIMES

dinal de Perigord, one of the most influential prel-
ates at the court of Avignon. He begged him be-
fore all things to use his authority so as to prevent
Pope Clement vi from signing the bull that would
sanction Andre's coronation, and he ended his let-
ter by earnestly entreating his uncle to win the
pope's consent to his marriage with the queen's
sister.

" We shall see, fair cousin," he said as he sealed
his letter, *' which of us is best at understanding
where our interest lies. You would not have me as
a friend, so you shall have me as an enemy. Sleep
on in the arms of your lover : I will wake you when
the time comes. I shall be Duke of Calabria per-
haps some day, and that title, as you well know,
belongs to the heir to the throne."

The next day and on the following days a remark-
able change took place in the behaviour of Charles
towards Andre: he showed him signs of great
friendliness, cleverly flattering his inclinations, and
even persuading Friar Robert that, far from feeling
any hostility in the matter of Andre's coronation,
his most earnest desire was that his uncle's wishes
should be respected ; and that, though he might have
given the impression of acting contrary to them, it
had only been done with a view to appeasing the
populace, who in their first excitement might have
been stirred up to insurrection against the Hunga-

1838

JOAN OF NAPLES

rians. He declared with much warmth that he heart-
ily detested the people about the queen, whose coun-
sels tended to lead her astray, and he promised to
join Friar Robert in the endeavour to get rid of
Joan's favourites by all such means as fortune might
put at his disposal. Although the Dominican did
not believe in the least in the sincerity of his ally's
protestations, he yet gladly welcomed the aid which
might prove so useful to the prince's cause, and
attributed the sudden change of front to some re-
cent rupture between Charles and his cousin, prom-
ising himself that he would make capital out of his
resentment. Be that as it might, Charles wormed
himself into Andre's heart, and after a few days
one of them could hardly be seen without the other.
If Andre went out hunting, his greatest pleasure in
life, Charles was eager to put his pack or his falcons
at his disposal; if Andre rode through the town,
Charles was always ambling by his side. He gave
way to his whims, urged him to extravagances, and
inflamed his angry passions : in a word, he was the
good angel — or the bad one — who inspired his every
thought and guided his every action.

Joan soon understood this business, and as a fact
had expected it. She could have ruined Charles
with a single word; but she scorned so base a re-
venge, and treated him with utter contempt. Thus
the court was split into two factions: the Hunga-

1839

CELEBRATED CRIMES

rians with Friar Robert at their head and supported
by Charles of Durazzo; on the other side all the
nobility of Naples, led by the Princes of Tarentum.
Joan, influenced by the grand seneschal's widow and
her two daughters, the Countesses of Terlizzi and
Morcone, and also by Dona Cancha and the Empress
of Constantinople, took the side of the Neapolitan
party against the pretensions of her husband. The
partisans of the queen made it their first care to
have her name inscribed upon all public acts with-
out adding Andre's; but Joan, led by an instinct
of right and justice amid all the corruption of her
court, had only consented to this last after she had
taken counsel with Andre d'Isernia, a very learned
lawyer of the day, respected as much for his lofty
character as for his great learning. The prince,
annoyed at being shut out in this way, began to act
in a violent and despotic manner. On his own
authority he released prisoners; he showered
favours upon Hungarians, and gave especial hon-
ours and rich gifts to Giovanni Pipino, Count of
Altanuera, the enemy of all others most dreaded
and detested by the Neapolitan barons. Then the
Counts of San Severino, Mileto, Terhzzi and Balzo,
Calanzaro and Sant' Angelo, and most of the gran-
dees, exasperated by the haughty insolence of An-
dre's favourite, which grew every day more out-
rageous, decided that he must perish, and his mas-

1840

JOAN OF NAPLES

ter with him, should he persist in attacking their
privileges and defying their anger.

Moreover, the women who were about Joan at
the court egged her on, each one urged by a private
interest, in the pursuit of her fresh passion. Poor
Joan, neglected by her husband and betrayed by
Robert of Cabane, gave way beneath the burden of
duties beyond her strength to bear, and fled for
refuge to the arms of Bertrand of Artois, whose
love she did not even attempt to resist ; for every
feehng for religion and virtue had been destroyed
in her of set purpose, and her young inclinations
had been early bent towards vice, just as the bodies
of wretched children are bent and their bones broken
by jugglers when they train them. Bertrand him-
self felt an adoration for her surpassing ordinary
human passion. When he reached the summit of a
happiness to which in his wildest dreams he had
never dared to aspire, the young count nearly lost
his reason. In vain had his father, Charles of
Artois (who v^'as Count of Aire, a direct descendant
of Philip the Bold, and one of the regents of the
kingdom), attempted by severe admonitions to stop
him while yet on the brink of the precipice: Ber-
trand would listen to nothing but his love for Joan
and his implacable hatred for all the queen's ene-
mies. Many a time, at the close of day, as the
breeze from Posilippo or Sorrento coming from far

1841

CELEBRATED CRIMES

away was playing in his hair, might Bertrand be
seen leaning from one of the casements of Castel
Nuovo, pale and motionless, gazing fixedly from
his side of the square to where the Duke of Calabria
and the Duke of Durazzo came galloping home
from their evening ride side by side in a cloud of
dust. Then the brows of the young count were
violently contracted, a savage, sinister look shona
in his blue eyes once so innocent, like lightning a
thought of death and vengeance flashed into his
mind; he would all at once begin to tremble, as a
light hand was laid upon his shoulder; he would
turn softly, fearing lest the divine apparition should
vanish to the skies; but there beside him stood a
young girl, with cheeks aflame and heaving breast,
with brilliant liquid eyes : she had come to tell how
her past day had been spent, and to offer her fore-
head for the kiss that should reward her labours
and unwilling absence. This woman, dictator of
laws and administrator of justice among grave
magistrates and stern ministers, was but fifteen
years old; this man, who knew her griefs, and to
avenge them was meditating regicide, was not yet'
twenty : two children of earth, the playthings of an
awful destiny!

Two months and a few days after the old king's
death, on the morning of Friday the 28th of March
of the same year, 1343, the widow of the grand

1842

JOAN OF NAPLES

seneschal, Philippa, who had already contrived to
get forgiven for the shameful trick she had used to
secure all her son's wishes, entered the queen's apart-
ments, excited by a genuine fear, pale and dis-
tracted, the bearer of news that spread terror and
lamentation throughout the court: Marie, the
queen's younger sister, had disappeared.

The gardens and outside courts had been searched
for any trace of her; every corner of the castle had
been examined; the guards had been threatened
with torture, so as to drag the truth from them ; no
one had seen anything of the princess, and nothing
could be found that suggested either flight or abduc-
tion. Joan, struck down by this new blow in the
midst of other troubles, was for a time utterly pros-
trated ; then, when she had recovered from her first
surprise, she behaved as all people do if despair
takes the place of reason : she gave orders for what
was already done to be done again, she asked the
same questions that could only bring the same an-
swers, and poured forth vain regrets and unjust
reproaches. The news spread through the town,
causing the greatest astonishment: there arose a
great commotion in the castle, and the members of
the regency hastily assembled, while couriers were
sent out in every direction, charged to promise 12,-
000 ducats to whomsoever should discover the place
where the princess was concealed. Proceedings

1843

CELEBRATED CRIMES

were at once taken against the soldiers who were on
guard at the fortress at the time of the dis-
appearance.

Bertrand of Artois drew the queen apart, telhng
her his suspicions, which fell directly upon Charles
of Durazzo; but Joan lost no time in persuading
him of the improbability of his hypothesis: first of
all, Charles had never once set his foot in Castel
Nuovo since the day of his stormy interview with
the queen, but had made a point of always leaving
Andre by the bridge when he came to the town with
him ; besides, it had never been noticed, even in the
past, that the young duke had spoken to Marie or
exchanged looks with her : the result of all attain-
able evidence was, that no stranger had entered
the castle the evening before except a notary named
Master Nicholas of Melazzo, an old person, half
silly, half fanatical, for whom Tommaso Pace, valet
de chambre to the Duke of Calabria, was ready to
answer with his life. Bertrand yielded to the
queen's reasoning, and day by day advanced new
suggestions, each less probable than the last, to draw
his mistress on to feel a hope that he was far from
feeling himself.

But a month later, and precisely on the morning
of Monday the 30th of April, a strange and unex-
pected scene took place, an exhibition of boldness
transcending all calculations. The Neapolitan peo-

1844

JOAN OF NAPLES

pie were stupefied in astonishment, and the grief of
Joan and her friends was changed to indignation.
Just as the clock of San Giovanni struck twelve, the
gate of the magnificent palace of the Durazzo flung
open its folding doors, and there came forth to the
sound of trumpets a double file of cavaliers on
richly caparisoned horses, with the duke's arms on
their shields. They took up their station round the
house to prevent the people outside from disturbing
a ceremony which was to take place before the eyes
of an immense crowd, assembled suddenly, as by a
miracle, upon the square. At the back of the court
stood an altar, and upon the steps lay two crimson
velvet cushions embroidered with the fleur-de-lys of
France and the ducal crown. Charles came for-
ward, clad in a dazzling dress, and holding by the
hand the cjueen's sister, the Princess Marie, at that
time almost thirteen years of age. She knelt down
timidly on one of the cushions, and when Charles
had done the same, the grand almoner of the Duras
house asked the young duke solem.nly what was his
intention in appearing thus humbly before a minis-
ter of the Church. At these words Master Nicholas
of Melazzo took his place on the left of the altar,
and read in a firm, clear voice, first, the contract of
marriage between Charles and Marie, and then the
apostolic letters from His Holiness the sovereign
pontiff, Clement vi, who in his own name removing

1845

CELEBRATED CRIMES

all obstacles that might impede the union, such as
the age of the young bride and the degrees of affin-
ity between the two parties, authorised his dearly
beloved son Charles, Duke of Durazzo and Albania,
to take in marriage the most illustrious Marie of
Anjou, sister of Joan, Queen of Naples and Jeru-
salem, and bestowed his benediction on the pair.

The almoner then took the young girl's hand, and
placing it in that of Charles, pronounced the prayers
of the Church. Charles, turning half round to the
people, said in a loud voice —

" Before God and man, this woman is my wife."

"And this man is my husband," said Marie,
trembling.

*' Long live the Duke and Duchess of Durazzo ! "
cried the crowd, clapping their hands. And the
young pair, at once mounting two beautiful horses
and followed by their cavaliers and pages, solemnly
paraded through the town, and re-entered their pal-
ace to the sound of trumpets and cheering.

When this incredible news was brought to the
queen, her first feeling was joy at the recovery of
her sister; and when Bertrand of Artois was eager,
to head a band of barons and cavaliers and bent on
falling upon the cortege to punish the traitor, Joan
put up her hand to stop him with a very mourn-
ful look.

"Alas!" she said sadly, "it is too late. They
1846

JOAN OF NAPLES

are legally married, for the head of the Church — •
who is moreover by my grandfather's will the head
of our family — has granted his permission. I only
pity my poor sister; I pity her for becoming so
young the prey of a wretched man who sacrifices
her to his own ambition, hoping by this marriage
to establish a claim to the throne. O God! what a
strange fate oppresses the royal house of Anjou!
My father's early death in the midst of his triumphs;
my mother's so quickly after; my sister and I, the
sole offspring of Charles i, both before we are
women grown fallen into the hands of cowardly
men, who use us but as the stepping-stones of their
ambition ! " Joan fell back exhausted on her chair,
a burning tear trembling on her eyelid.

" This is the second time," said Bertrand re-
proachfully, " that I have drawn my sword to
avenge an insult offered to you, the second time I
return it by your orders to the scabbard. But re-
member, Joan, the third time will not find me so
docile, and then it will not be Robert of Cabane or
Charles of Durazzo that I shall strike, but him who
is the cause of all your misfortunes."

" Have mercy, Bertrand ! do not you also speak
these words; whenever this horrible thought takes
hold of me, let me come to you : this threat of blood-
shed that is drummed into my ears, this sinister
vision that haunts my sight ; let me come to you, be-

1847

CELEBRATED CRIMES

loved, and weep upon your bosom, beneath your
breath cool my burning fancies, from your eyes
draw some little courage to revive my perishing
soul. Come, I am quite unhappy enough without
needing to poison the future by an endless remorse.
Tell me rather to forgive and to forget, speak not
of hatred and revenge; show me one ray of hope
amid the darkness that surrounds me; hold up my
wavering feet, and push me not into the abyss."

Such altercations as this were repeated as often
as any fresh wrong arose from the side of Andre
or his party ; and in proportion as the attacks made
by Bertrand and his friends gained in vehemence — •
and we must add, in justice — so did Joan's objec-
tions weaken. The Hungarian rule, as it became
more and more arbitrary and unbearable, irritated
men's minds to such a point, that the people mur-
mured in secret and the nobles proclaimed aloud
their discontent. Andre's soldiers indulged in a
libertinage which would have been intolerable in
a conquered city: they were found everywhere
brawling in the taverns or rolling about disgust-
ingly drunk in the gutters ; and the prince, far from
rebuking such orgies, was accused of sharing them
himself. His former tutor, who ought to have felt
bound to drag him away from so ignoble a mode of
life, rather strove to immerse him in degrading
pleasures, so as to keep him out of business matters;

1848

JOAN OF NAPLES

without suspecting it, he was hurrying on the de-
nouement of the terrible drama that was being acted
behind the scenes at Castel Nuovo. Robert's
widow, Dona Sancha of Aragon, the good and
sainted lady whom our readers may possibly have
forgotten, as her family had done, seeing that God's
anger was hanging over her house, and that no
counsels, no tears or prayers of hers could avail to
arrest it, after wearing mourning for her husband
one whole year, according to her promise, had taken
the veil at the convent of Santa Maria della Croce,
and deserted the court and its follies and passions,
just as the prophets of old, turning their back on
some accursed city, would shake the dust from off
their sandals and depart. Sancha's retreat was a
sad omen, and soon the family dissensions, long
with difficulty suppressed, sprang forth to open
view ; the storm that had been threateninof from afar
broke suddenly over the town, and the thunderbolt
was shortly to follow.

On the last day of August 1344, Joan rendered
homage to Americ, Cardinal of Saint Martin and
legate of Clement vi, who looked upon the kingdom
of Naples as being a fief of the Church ever since
the time when his predecessors had presented it to
Charles of Anjou, and overthrown and excommuni-
cated the house of Suabia. For this solemn cere-
mony the church of Saint Clara was chosen, the

1849 Duiuas— \ul. U— C

CELEBRATED CRIMES

burial-place of Neapolitan kings, and but lately the
tomb of the grandfather and father of the young
queen, who reposed to right and left of the high
altar. Joan, clad in the royal robe, with the crown
upon her head, uttered her oath of fidelity between
the hands of the apostolic legate in the presence of
her husband, who stood behind her simply as a wit-
ness, just like the other princes of the blood.
Among the prelates with their pontifical insignia
who formed the brilliant following of the envoy,
there stood the Archbishops of Pisa, Bari, Capua,
and Brindisi, and the reverend fathers Ugolino,
Bishop of Castella, and Philip, Bishop of Cavaillon,
chancellor to the queen. All the nobility of Naples
and Hungary were present at this ceremony, which
debarred Andre from the throne in a fashion at once
formal and striking. Thus, when they left the
church the excited feelings of both parties made a
crisis imminent, and such hostile glances, such
threatening words were exchanged, that the prince,
finding himself too weak to contend against his
enemies, wrote the same evening to his mother, tell-
ing her that he was about to leave a country where
from his infancy upwards he had experienced noth-
ing but deceit and disaster.

Those who know a mother's heart will easily
guess that Elizabeth of Poland was no sooner aware
of the danger that threatened her son than she trav-

1850

JOAN OF NAPLES

elled to Naples, arriving there before her coming
was suspected. Rumour spread abroad that the
Queen of Hungary had come to take her son away
with her, and the unexpected event gave rise to
strange comments: the fever of excitement now
blazed up in another direction. The Empress of
Constantinople, the Catanese, her two daughters,
and all the courtiers, whose calculations were upset
by Andre's departure, hurried to honour the arrival
of the Queen of Hungary by offering a very cordial
and respectful reception, with a view to showing her
that, in the midst of a court so attentive and de-
voted, any isolation or bitterness of feeling on the
young prince's part must spring from his pride,
from an unwarrantable mistrust, and his naturally
savage and untrained character. Joan received her
husband's mother with so much proper dignity in
her behaviour that, in spite of preconceived notions,
Elizabeth could not help admiring the noble serious-
ness and earnest feeling she saw in her daughter-
in-law. To make the visit more pleasant to an hon-
oured guest, fetes and tournaments were given, the
barons vying with one another in display of wealth
and luxury. The Empress of Constantinople, the
Catanese, Charles of Duras and his young wife, all
paid the utmost attention to the mother of the
prince. Marie, who by reason of her extreme youth
and gentleness of character had no share in any

1851

CELEBRATED CRIMES

intrigues, was guided quite as much by her natural
feehng as by her husband's orders when she offered
to the Queen of Hungary those marks of regard
and affection that she might have felt for her own
mother. In spite, however, of these protestations
of respect and love, Elizabeth of Poland trembled
for her son, and, obeying a maternal instinct, chose
to abide by her original intention, believing that she
should never feel safe until Andre was far away
from a court in appearance so friendly but in reality
so treacherous. The person who seemed most dis-
turbed by the departure, and tried to hinder it by
every means in his power, was Friar Robert. Im-
mersed in his political schemes, bending over his
mysterious plans with all the eagerness of a gambler
who is on the point of gaining, the Dominican, who
thought himself on the eve of a tremendous event,
who by cunning, patience, and labour hoped to scat-
ter his enemies and to reign as absolute autocrat,
now falling suddenly from the edifice of his dream,
stiffened himself by a mighty effort to stand and
resist the mother of his pupil. But fear cried too
loud in the heart of Elizabeth for all the reasonings
of the monk to lull it to rest : to every argument he
advanced she simply said that while her son was not
king and had not entire unlimited power, it was
imprudent to leave him exposed to his enemies. The
monk, seeing that all was indeed lost and that he

1852

JOAN OF NAPLES

could not contend against the fears of this woman,
asked only the boon of three days' grace, at the end
of which time, should a reply he was expecting have
not arrived, he said he would not only give up his
opposition to Andre's departure, but would follow
himself, renouncing for ever a scheme to which he
had sacrificed everything.

Towards the end of the third day, as Elizabeth
was definitely making her preparations for depart-
ure, the monk entered radiant. Showing her a let-
ter which he had just hastily broken open, he cried
triumphantly —

" God be praised, madam ! I can at last give you
incontestable proofs of my active zeal and accurate
foresight."

Andre's mother, after rapidly running through
the document, turned her eyes on the monk with
yet some traces of mistrust in her manner, not ven-
turing to give way to her sudden joy.

" Yes, madam," said the monk, raising his head, .
his plain features lighted up by his glance of intelli-
gence — " yes, madam, you will believe your eyes,
perhaps, though you would never believe my words :
this is not the dream of an active imagination, the
hallucination of a credulous mind, the prejudice of a
limited intellect ; it is a plan slowly conceived, pain-
fully worked out, my daily thought and my whole
life's work. I have never ignored the fact that at

1853

CELEBRATED CRIMES

the court of Avignon your son had powerful ene-
mies ; but I knew also that on the very day I under-
took a certain solemn engagement in the prince's
name, an engagement to withdraw those laws that
had caused coldness between the pope and Robert,
who was in general so devoted to the Church, I
knew very well that my offer v^ould never be re-
jected, and this argument of mine I kept back for the
last. See, madam, my calculations are correct;
your enemies are put to shame and your son is
triumphant."

Then turning to Andre, who was just coming in
and stood dumbfounded at the threshold on hear-
ing the last words, he added —

" Come, my son, our prayers are at last fulfilled :
you are king."

" King ! " repeated Andre, transfixed with joy,
doubt, and amazement.

"King of Sicily and Jerusalem: yes, my lord;
there is no need for you to read this document that
brings the joyful, unexpected news. You can see
it in your mother's tears ; she holds out her arms to
press you to her bosom ; you can see it in the happi-
ness of your old teacher; he falls on his knees at
your feet to salute you by this title, which he would
have paid for with his own blood had it been denied
to you much longer."

" And yet," said Elizabeth, after a moment's
1854

JOAN OF NAPLES

mournful reflection, " if I obey my presentiments,
your news will make no difference to our plans for
departure."

" Nay, mother," said Andre firmly, " you would
not force me to quit the country to the detriment
of my honour. If I have made you feel some of the
bitterness and sorrow that have spoiled my own
young days because of my cowardly enemies, it is
not from a poor spirit, but because I was powerless,
and knew it, to take any sort of striking vengeance
for their secret insults, their crafty injuries, their
underhand intrigues. It was not because my arm
wanted strength, but because my head wanted a
crown. I might have put an end to some of these
wretched beings, the least dangerous maybe; but it
would have been striking in the dark; the ring-
leaders would have escaped, and I should never have
really got to the bottom of their infernal plots. So
I have silently eaten out my own heart in shame and
indignation. Now that my sacred rights are recog-
nised by the Church, you will see, my mother, how
these terrible barons, the queen's counsellors, the
governors of the kingdom, will lower their heads
in the dust : for they are threatened with no sword
and no struggle ; no peer of their own is he who
speaks, but the king ; it is by him they are accused,
by the law they shall be condemned, and shall suffer
on the scaffold."

1855

CELEBRATED CRIMES

" O my beloved son," cried the queen in tears, " I
never doubted your noble feelings or the justice of
your claims; but when your life is in danger, to
what voice can I listen but the voice of fear? what
can move my counsels but the promptings of love? "

" Mother, believe me, if the hands and hearts
alike of these cowards had not trembled, you would
have lost your son long ago."

" It is not violence that I fear, my son, it is
treachery."

" My life, like every man's, belongs to God, and
the lowest of sbirri may take it as I turn the corner
of the street; but a king owes something to his
people."

The poor mother long tried to bend the reso-
lution of Andre by reason and entreaties; but when
she had spoken her last word and shed her last tear,
she summoned Bertram de Baux, chief-justice of
the kingdom, and Marie, Duchess of Durazzo.
Trusting in the old man's wisdom and the girl's
innocence, she commended her son to them in the
tenderest and most affecting words ; then drawing
from her own hand a ring richly wrought, and tak-
ing the prince aside, she slipped it upon his finger,
saying in a voice that trembled with emotion as she
pressed him to her heart —

" My son, as you refuse to come with me, here
is a wonderful talisman, which I would not use be-

1856

JOAN OF NAPLES

fore the last extremity. So long as you wear this
ring on your finger, neither sword nor poison will
have power against you."

" You see then, mother," said the prince, smiling,
" with this protection there is no reason at all to
fear for my life.''

There are other dangers than sword or poison."
sighed the queen.

"Be calm, mother: the best of all talismans is
your prayer to God for me : it is the tender thought
of you that will keep me for ever in the path of
duty and justice ; your maternal love will watch
over me from afar, and cover me like the wings
of a guardian angel."

Elizabeth sobbed as she embraced her son, and
when she left him she felt her heart was breaking.
At last she made up her mind to go, and was es-
corted by the whole court, who had never changed
towards her for a moment in their chivalrous and
respectful devotion. The poor mother, pale, trem-
bling, and faint, leaned heavily upon Andre's arm,
lest she should fall. On the ship that was to take
her for ever from her son, she cast her arms for the
last time about his neck, and there hung a long time,
speechless, tearless, and motionless ; when the signal
for departure was given, her women took her in
their arms half swooning. Andre stood on the
shore with the feeling of death at his heart : his

1857

CELEBRATED CRIMES

eyes were fixed upon the sail that carried ever far-
ther from him the only being he loved in the world.
Suddenly he fancied he beheld something white
moving a long way off: his mother had recovered
her senses by a great effort, and had dragged herself
up to the bridge to give a last signal of farewell:
the unhappy lady knew too well that she would
never see her son again.

At almost the same moment that Andre's mother
left the kingdom, the former queen of Naples, Rob-
ert's widow, Dofia Sancha, breathed her last sigh.
She was buried in the convent of Santa Maria della
Croce, under the name of Clara, which she had
assumed on taking her vows as a nun, as her epi-
taph tells us, as follows: —

" Here lies, an example of great humility, the
body of the sainted sister Clara, of illustrious mem-
ory, otherwise Sancha, Queen of Sicily and Jeru-
salem, widow of the most serene Robert, King of
Jerusalem and Sicily, who, after the death of the
king her husband, when she had completed a year
of widowhood, exchanged goods temporary for
goods eternal. Adopting for the love of God a
voluntary poverty, and distributing her goods to the
poor, she took upon her the rule of obedience in this
celebrated convent of Santa Croce, the work of her
own hands, in the year 1344, on the 21st of Janu-
ary of the twelfth indiction, where, living a life of

1858

JOAN OF NAPLES

holiness under the rule of the blessed Francis, father
of the poor, she ended her days religiously in the
year of our Lord 1345, on the 28th of July of the
thirteenth indiction. On the day following she was
buried in this tomb."

The death of Dona Sancha served to hasten on
the catastrophe which was to stain the throne of
Naples with blood : one might almost fancy that
God wished to spare this angel of love and resigna-
tion the sight of so terrible a spectacle; that she of-
fered herself as a propitiatory sacrifice to redeem
the crimes of her family.

1859

CHAPTER IV

EIGHT days after the funeral of the old queen,
Bertrand of Artois came to Joan, distraught,
dishevelled, in a state of agitation and confusion
impossible to describe.

Joan went quickly up to her lover, asking him with
a look of fear to explain the cause of his distress,

" I told you, madam," cried the young baron ex-
citedly, " you will end by ruining us all, as you will
never take any advice from me."

" For God's sake, Bertrand, speak plainly : what
has happened ? What advice have I neglected ?"

" Madam, your noble husband, Andre of Hun-
gary, has just been made King of Jerusalem and
Sicily, and acknowledged by the court of Avignon,
so henceforth you will be no better than his slave."

" Count of Artois, you are dreaming."

" No, madam, I am not dreaming : I have this
fact to prove the truth of my words, that the pope's
ambassadors are arrived at Capua with the bull for
his coronation, and if they do not enter Castel Nu-
ovo this very evening, the delay is only to give the
new king time to make his preparations."

i860

JOAN OF NAP1.es

The queen bent her head as if a thunderbolt had

fallen at her feet.

" When I told you before," said the count, with
growing fury, " that we ought to use force to make
a stand against him, that we ought to break the
yoke of this infamous tyranny and get rid of the
man before he had the means of hurting you, you
always drew back in childish fear, with a woman's
cowardly hesitation."

Joan turned a tearful look upon her lover.

" God, my God !" she cried, clasping her hands in
desperation, " am I to hear for ever this awful cry
of death ! You too, Bertrand, you too say the word,
like Robert' of Cabane, hke Charles of Duras?
Wretched man, why would you raise this bloody
spectre between us, to check with icy hand our
adulterous kisses? Enough of such crimes; if his
wretched ambition makes him long to reign, let
him be king: what matters his power to me, if he
leaves me with your love? "

" It is not so sure that our love will last much
longer."

'■' What is this, Bertrand? You rejoice in this
Ifterciless torture,"

" I tell you, madam, that the King of Naples has
a black flag ready, and on the day of his coronation
it will be carried before him."

" And you believe," said Joan, pale as a corpse
1861

CELEBRATED CRIMES

in its shroud, — " you believe that this flag is a
threat?"

" Ay, and the threat begins to be put in execu-
tion."

The queen staggered, and leaned against a table
to save herself from falling.

" Tell me all," she cried in a choking voice ; " fear
not to shock me; see, I am not trembling. O Ber-
trand, I entreat you!"

" The traitors have begun with the man you most
esteemed, the wisest counsellor of the crown, the
best of magistrates, the noblest-hearted, most rigid-
ly virtuous "

" Andrea of Isernia !'*

" Madam, he is no more."

Joan uttered a cry, as though the noble old man
had been slain before her eyes : she respected him
as a father; then, sinking back, she remained pro-
foundly silent.

" How did they kill him?" she asked at last, fix-
ing her great eyes in terror on the count.

" Yesterday evening, as he left this castle, on the
way to his own home, a man suddenly sprang out
upon him before the Porta Petruccia: it was one of
Andre's favourites, Conrad of Gottis chosen no
doubt because he had a grievance against the incor-
ruptible magistrate on account of some sentence
passed against him, and the murder would there-

1862

JOAN OF NAPLES

fore be put down to motives of private revenge.
The cowardly wretch gave a sign to two or three
companions, who surrounded the victim and robbed
him of all means of escape. The poor old man
looked fixedly at his assassin, and asked him what
he wanted. * I want you to lose your life at my
hands, as I lost my case at yours ! ' cried the mur-
derer; and leaving him no time to answer, he ran
him through with his sword. Then the rest fell up-
on the poor man, who did not even try to call for
help, and his body was riddled with wounds and
horribly mutilated, and then left bathed in its blood."

" Terrible !" murmured the queen, covering her
face.

" It was only their first effort : the proscription
lists are already full : Andre must needs have blood
to celebrate his accession to the throne of Naples.
And do you know, Joan, whose name stands first
in the doomed list?"

"Whose?" cried the queen, shuddering from
head to foot.

" Mine," said the count calmly.

" Yours! " cried Joan, drawing herself up to her
full height ; " are you to be killed next ! Oh, be
careful, Andre; you have pronounced your own
death-sentence. Long have I turned aside the dag-
ger pointing to your breast, but you put an end to
all my patience. Woe to you, Prince of Hungary!

1863

CELEBRATED CRIMES

the blood which you have spilt shall fall on your
own head."

As she spoke she had lost her pallor : her lovely
face was fired with revenge, her eyes flashed light-
ning. This child of sixteen was terrible to behold:
she pressed her lover's hand with convulsive tender-
ness, and clung to him as if she would screen him
with her own body.

" Your anger is awakened too late," said he
gently and sadly; for at this moment Joan seemed
so lovely that he could reproach her with nothing.
" You do not know that his mother has left him a
talisman preserving him from sword and poison? "

"He will die," said Joan firmly: the smile that
lighted up her face was so unnatural that the count
was dismayed, and dropped his eyes.

The next day the young Queen of Naples, lovelier,
more smiling than ever, sitting carelessly in a grace-
ful attitude beside a window which looked out on
the magnificent view of the bay, was busy weaving
a cord of silk and gold. The sun had run nearly
two-thirds of his fiery course, and was gradually
sinking his rays in the clear blue waters where
Posilippo's head is reflected with its green and flow-
ery crown. A warm, balmy breeze that had passed
over the orange trees of Sorrento and Amalfi felt
deliciously refreshing to the inhabitants of the cap-
ital, who had succumbed to torpor in the enervating

1864

JOAN OF NAPLES

softness of the day. The whole town was waking
from a long siesta, breathing freely after a sleepy
interval: the Molo was covered with a crowd of
eager people dressed out in the brightest colours;
the many cries of a festival, joyous songs, love dit-
ties sounded from all quarters of the vast amphi-
theatre, which is one of the chief marvels of crea-
tion : they came to the ears of Joan, and she listened
as she bent over her work, absorbed in deep thought.
Suddenly, when she seemed most busily occupied,
the indefinable feeling of someone near at hand, and
the touch of something on her shoulder, made her
start : she turned as though waked from a dream by
contact with a serpent, and perceived her husband,
magnificently dressed, carelessly leaning against the
back of her chair. For a long time past the prince
had not come to his wife in this familiar fashion,
and to the queen the pretence of affection and care-
less behaviour augured ill. Andre did not appear
to notice the look of hatred and terror that had
escaped Joan in spite of herself, and assuming the
best expression of gentleness as that his straight
hard features could contrive to put on in such
circumstances as these, he smilingly asked —

" Why are you making this pretty cord, dear
dutiful wife? "

" To hang you with, my lord," replied the queen,
with a smile.

1865

CELEBRATED CRIMES

Andre shrugged his shoulders, seeing in the threat
so incredibly rash nothing more than a pleasantry
in rather bad taste. But when he saw that Joan
resumed her work, he tried to renew the con-
versation.

" I admit," he said, in a perfectly calm voice,
** that my question is quite unnecessary : from your
eagerness to finish this handsome piece of work, I
ought to suspect that it is destined for some fine
knight of yours whom you propose to send on a
dangerous enterprise wearing your colours. If so,
my fair queen, I claim to receive my orders from
your lips: appoint the time and place for the trial,
and I am sure beforehand of carrying off a prize
that I shall dispute with all your adorers."

" That is not so certain," said Joan, " if you are
as valiant in war as in love." And she cast on
her husband a look at once seductive and scornful,
beneath which the young man blushed up to his eyes.

" I hope," said Andre, repressing his feelings, —
*' I hope soon to give you such proofs of my affec-
tion that you will never doubt it again."

" And what makes you fancy that, my lord ? "

" I would tell you, if you would listen seriously.*'

" I am listening."

" Well, it is a dream I had last night that gives
me such confidence in the future."

" A dream ! You surely ought to explain that."
1866

JOAN OF NAPLES

" I dreamed that there was a grand fete in the
town: an immense crowd filled the streets like an
overflowing torrent, and the heavens were ringing
with their shouts of joy ; the gloomy granite f agades
were hidden by hangings of silk and festoons of
flowers, the churches were decorated as though for
some grand ceremony. I was riding side by side
with you." Joan made a haughty movement.
" Forgive me, madam, it was only a dream : I was
on your right, riding a fine white horse, magnifi-
cently caparisoned, and the chief-justice of the king-
dom carried before me a flag unfolded in sign of
honour. After riding in triumph through the main
thoroughfares of the city, we arrived, to the sound
of trumpets and clarions, at the royal church of
Saint Clara, where your grandfather and my uncle
are buried, and there, before the high altar, the
pope's ambassador laid your hand in mine and pro-
nounced a long discourse, and then on our two heads
in turn placed the crown of Jerusalem and Sicily;
after which the nobles and the people shouted in
one voice, * Long live the King and Queen of
Naples ! ' And I, wishing to perpetuate the memory
of so glorious a day, proceeded to create knights
among the most zealous in our court."

" And do you not remember the names of the
chosen persons whom you judged worthy of your
royal favours ? "

1867

CELEBRATED CRIMES

Assuredly, madam: Bertrand, Count of Ar-

tois-

" Enough, my lord ; I excuse you from naming
the rest: I always supposed you were loyal and
generous, but you give me fresh proof of it by
showing favour to men whom I most honour and
trust. I cannot tell if your wishes are likely soon
to be realised, but in any case feel sure of my per-
petual gratitude."

Joan's voice did not betray the slightest emotion ;
her look had become kind, and the sweetest smile
was on her lips. But in her heart Andre's death
was from that moment decided upon. The prince,
too much preoccupied with his own projects of ven-
geance, and too confident in his all-powerful talis-
man and his personal valour, had no suspicion that
his plans could be anticipated. He conversed a long
time with his wife in a chatting, friendly way, try-
ing to spy out her secret, and exposing his own by
his interrupted phrases and mysterious reserves.
When he fancied that every cloud of former resent-
ment, even the lightest, had disappeared from Joan's
brow, he begged her to go with her suite on a mag-
nificent hunting expedition that he was organising
for the 20th of August, adding that such a kindness
on her part would be for him a sure pledge of their
reconciliation and complete forgetfulness of the
past. Joan promised with a charming grace, and

1868

JOAN OF NAPLES

the prince retired fully satisfied with the interview,
carrying with him the conviction that he had
only to threaten to strike a blow at the queen's
favourite to ensure her obedience, perhaps even her
love.

But on the eve of the 20th of August a strange
and terrible scene was being enacted in the base-
ment storey of one of the lateral towers of Castel
Nuovo. Charles of Durazzo, who had never ceased
to brood secretly over his infernal plans, had been
informed by the notary whom he had charged to
spy upon the conspirators, that on that particular
evening they were about to hold a decisive meeting,
and therefore, wrapped in a black cloak, he glided
into the underground corridor and hid himself be-
hind a pillar, there to await the issue of the confer-
ence. After two dreadful hours of suspense, every
second marked out by the beating of his heart,
Charles fancied he heard the sound of a door very
carefully opened; the feeble ray of a lantern in the
vault scarcely served to dispel the darkness, but a
man coming away from the wall approached him
walking like a living statue. Charles gave a slight
cough, the sign agreed upon. The man put out his
light and hid away the dagger he had drawn in case
of a surprise.

" Is it you, Master Nicholas ? " asked the duke
in a low voice.

1869

CELEBRATED CRIMES

"It is I, my lord."

"What is it?"

" They have just fixed the prince's death for to*
morrow, on his way to the hunt."

" Did you recognise every conspirator? "

" Every one, though their faces were masked ;
when they gave their vote for death, I knew them
by their voices."

" Could you point out to me who they are ? "

" Yes, this very minute ; they are going to pass
along at the end of this corridor. And see, here is
Tommaso Pace walking in front of them to light
their way."

Indeed, a tall spectral figure, black from head to
foot, his face carefully hidden under a velvet mask,
walked at the end of the corridor, lamp in hand,
and stopped at the first step of a staircase which led
to the upper floors. The conspirators advanced
slowly, two by two, like a procession of ghosts,
appeared for one moment in the circle of light
made by the torch, and again disappeared into
shadow,

" See, there are Charles and Bertrand of Artois,"
said the notary; "there are the Counts of Terlizzi
and Catanzaro ; the grand admiral and grand senes-
chal, Godfrey of Marsan, Count of Squillace, and
Robert of Cabane, Count of Eboli ; the two women
talking in a low voice with the eager gesticulations

1870

JOAN OF NAPLES

are Catherine of Tarentum, Empress of Constan-
tinople, and Philippa the Catanese, the queen's gov-
erness and chief lady; there is Doiia Cancha, cham-
berwoman and confidante of Joan ; and there is the
Countess of Morcone "

The notary stopped on beholding a shadow
alone, its head bowed, with arms hanging loosely,
chokingf back her sobs beneath a hood of black.

" Who is the woman who seems to drag herself
so painfully along in their train? " asked the duke,
pressing his companion's arm.

" That woman," said the notary, " is the queen."

" Ah, now I see," thought Charles, breathing
freely, with the same sort of satisfaction that Satan
no doubt feels when a long coveted soul falls at
length into his power.

" And now, my lord," continued Master Nicholas,
when all had returned once more into silence and
darkness, " if you have bidden me spy on these con-
spirators with a view to saving the young prince
you are protecting with love and vigilance, you
must hurry forward, for to-morrow maybe it will
be too late."

" Follow me," cried the duke imperiously ; " it
is time you should know my real intention, and then
carry out my orders with scrupulous exactness."

With these words he drew him aside to a place
opposite to where the conspirators had just dis-

1871

CELEBRATED CRIMES

appeared. The notary mechanically followed
through a labyrindi of dark corridors and secret
staircases, quite at a loss how to account for the
sudden change that had come over his master:
crossing one of the ante-chambers in the castle, they
came upon Andre, who joyfully accosted them;
grasping the hand of his cousin Duras in his affec-
tionate manner, he asked him in a pressing way that
would brook no refusal, " Will you be of our hunt-
ing party to-morrow, duke? "

" Excuse me, my lord," said Charles, bowing
down to the ground ; " it will be impossible for me
to go to-morrow, for my wife is very unwell; but I
entreat you to accept the best falcon I have."

And here he cast upon the notary a petrifying
glance.

The morning of the 20th of August was fine and
calm — the irony of nature contrasting cruelly with
the fate of mankind. From break of day masters
and valets, pages and knights, princes and courtiers,
all were on foot; cries of joy v;ere heard on every
side when the queen arrived, on a snow-white horse,
at the head of the young and brilliant throng. Joan
was perhaps paler than usual, but that might be
because she had been obliged to rise very early.
Andre, mounted on one of tlie most fiery of all the
steeds he had tamed, galloped beside his v/ife, noble
and proud, happy in his own powers, his youth, and

1872

JOAN OF NAPLES

the thousand gilded hopes that a brilliant future
seemed to offer. Never had the court of Naples
shown so brave an aspect : every feeling of distrust
and hatred seemed entirely forgotten ; Friar Robert
himself, suspicious as he was by nature, when he
saw the joyous cavalcade go by under his window,
looked out with pride, and stroking his beard,
laughed at his own seriousness.

Andre's intention was to spend several days hunt-
ing between Capua and Aversa, and only to return
to Naples when all was in readiness for his corona-
tion. Thus the first day they hunted round about
Melito, and went through two or three villages in
the land of Lahore. Towards evening the court
stopped at Aversa, with a view to passing the night
there, and since at that period there was no castle
in the place worthy of entertaining the queen with
her husband and numerous court, the convent of
St. Peter's at Majella was converted into a royal
residence : this convent had been built by Charles ii
in the year of our Lord 1309.

While the grand seneschal was giving orders for
supper and the preparation of a room for Andre
and his wife, the prince, who during the whole day
had abandoned himself entirely to his favourite
amusement, went up on the terrace to enjoy the
evening air, accompanied by the good Isolda, his
beloved nurse, who loved him more even than his

1873

CELEBRATED CRIMES

mother, and would not leave his side for a moment.
Never had the prince appeared so animated and
happy: he was in ecstasies over the beauty of the
country, the clear air, the scent of the trees around ;
he besieged his nurse with a thousand queries, never
waiting for an answer; and they were indeed long
in coming, for poor Isolda was gazing upon him
with that appearance of fascination which makes
a mother absent-minded when her child is talking.
Andre was eagerly telling her about a terrible boar
he had chased that morning across the woods, how
it had lain foaming at his feet, and Isolda inter-
rupted him to say he had a grain of dust in his eye.
Then Andre was full of his plans for the future, and
Isolda stroked his fair hair, remarking that he must
be feeling very tired. Then, heeding nothing but
his own joy and excitement, the young prince hurled
defiance at destiny, calling by all his gods on dangers
to come forward, so that he might have the chance
of quelling them, and the poor nurse exclaimed,
in a flood of tears, " My child, you love me no
longer."

Out of all patience with these constant interrup-
tions, Andre scolded her kindly enough, and mocked
at her childish fears. Then, paying no attention to
a sort of melancholy that was coming over him, he
bade her tell him old tales of his childhood, and
had a long talk about his brother Louis, his absent

1874

JOAN OF NAPLES

mother, and tears were in his eyes when he recalled
her last farewell. Isolda listened joyfully, and an-
swered all he asked ; but no fell presentiment shook
her heart: the poor woman loved Andre with aS
the strength of her soul; for him she would have
given up her life in this world and in the world to
come; yet she was not his mother.

When all was ready, Robert of Cabane came to
tell the prince that the queen awaited him; Andre
cast one last look at the smiling fields beneath the
starry heavens, pressed his nurse's hand to his lips
and to his heart, and followed the grand seneschal
slowly and, it seemed, with some regret. But soon
the brilliant lights of the room, the wine that cir-
culated freely, the gay talk, the eager recitals of
that day's exploits, served to disperse the cloud of
gloom that had for a moment overspread the coun-
tenance of the prince. The queen alone, leaning on
the table, with fixed eyes and lips that never moved,
sat at this strange feast pale and cold as a baleful
ghost summoned from the tomb to disturb the joy
of the party. Andre, whose brain began to be af-
fected by the draughts of wine from Capri and
Syracuse, was annoyed at his wife's look, and at-
tributing it to contempt, filled a goblet to the brim
and presented it to the queen. Joan visibly trem-
bled, her lips moved convulsively; but the conspira-
tors drowned in their noisy talk the involuntary

1875

CELEBRATED CRIMES

groan that escaped her. In the midst of a general
uproar, Robert of Cabane proposed that they should
serve generous supplies of the same wine drunk at
the royal table to the Hungarian guards who were
keeping watch at the approaches to the convent, and
this liberality evoked frenzied applause. The shout-
ing of the soldiers soon gave witness to their grati-
tude for the unexpected gift, and mingled with the
hilarious toasts of the banqueters. To put the fin-
ishing touch to Andre's excitement, there were cries
on every side of " Long live the Queen! Long live
His Majesty the King of Naples ! "

The orgy lasted far into the night: the pleasures
of the next day were discussed with enthusiasm, and
Bertrand of Artois protested in a loud voice that
if they were so late now some would not rise early
on the morrow. Andre declared that, for his part,
an hour or two's rest would be enough to get over
his fatigue, and he eagerly protested that it would
be well for others to follow his example. The Count
of Terlizzi seemed to express some doubt as to the
prince's punctuality. Andre insisted, and challeng-
ing all the barons present to see who would be up
first, he retired with the queen to the room that hnd
been reserved for them, where he very soon fell into
a deep and heavy sleep. About two o'clock in the
morning, Tommaso Pace, the prince's valet and
first usher of the royal apartments, knocked at his

1876

JOAN OF NAPLES

master's door to rouse him for the chase. At the
first knock, all was silence; at the second, Joan,
who had not closed her eyes all night, moved as if
to rouse her hushand and warn him of the threat-
ened danger; but at the third knock the unfortunate
young man suddenly awoke, and hearing in the next
room sounds of laughter and whispering, fancied
that they were making a joke of his laziness, and
jumped out of bed bareheaded, in nothing but his
shirt, his shoes half on and half off. He opened the
door; and at this point we translate literally the
account of Domenico Gravina, a historian of much
esteem. As soon as che prince appeared, the con-
spirators all at once fell upon him, to strangle him
with their hands; believing he could not die by
poison or sword, because of the charmed ring given
him by his poor mother. But Andre was so strong
and active, that when he perceived the infamous
treason he defended himself with more than human
strength, and with dreadful cries got free from his
murderers, his face all bloody, his fair hair pulled
out in handfuls. The unhappy young man tried to
gain his own bedroom, so as to get some weapon
and valiantly resist the assassins ; but as he reached
the door, Nicholas of Melazzo, putting his dagger
like a bolt into the lock, stopped his entrance. The
prince, calling aloud the whole time and imploring
the protection of his friends, returned to the hall;

1877

CELEBRATED CRIMES

but all the doors were shut, and no one held out a
helping hand ; for the queen was silent, showing no
uneasiness about her husband's death.

But the nurse Isolda, terrified by the shouting of
her beloved son and lord, leapt from her bed and
went to the window, filling the house with dreadful
cries. The traitors, alarmed by the mighty uproar,
although the place was lonely and so far from the
centre of the town that nobody could have come to
see what the noise was, were on the point of letting
their victim go, when Bertrand of Artois, who felt
he was more guilty than the others, seized the prince
with hellish fury round the waist, and after a des-
perate struggle got him down ; then dragging him
by the hair of his head to a balcony which gave
upon the garden, and pressing one knee upon his
chest, cried out to the others —

" Come here, barons : I have what we want to
strangle him with."

And round his neck he passed a long cord of silk
and gold, while the wretched man struggled all he
could. Bertrand quickly drew up the knot, and the
others threw the body over the parapet of the bal-
cony, leaving it hanging between earth and sky
until death ensued. When the Count of Terlizzi
averted his eyes from the horrid spectacle, Robert
of Cabane cried out imperiously —

" What are you doing there ? The cord is long
1878

JOAN OF NAPLES

enough for us all to hold: we want not witnesses,
we want accomplices! "

As soon as the last convulsive movements of the
dying man had ceased, they let the corpse drop the
whole height of the three storeys, and opening the
doors of the hall, departed as though nothing had
happened.

Isolda, when at last she contrived to get a light,
rapidly ran to the queen's chamber, and finding the
door shut on the inside, began to call loudly on her
Andre. There was no answer, though the queen
was in the room. The poor nurse, distracted,
trembling, desperate, ran down all the corridors,
knocked at all the cells and woke the monks one
by one, begging them to help her look for the
prince. The monks said that they had indeed heard
a noise, but thinking it was a quarrel between sol-
diers drunken perhaps or mutinous, they had not
thought it their business to interfere. Isolda eagerly
entreated : the alarm spread through the convent ;
the monks followed the nurse, who went on before
with a torch. She entered the garden, saw some-
thing white upon the grass, advanced trembling,
gave one piercing cry, and fell backward.

The wretched Andre was lying in his blood, a
cord round his neck as though he were a thief, his
head crushed in by the height from which he fell.
Then two monks went upstairs to the queen's room,

1879

CELEBRATED CRIMES

and respectfully knocking at the door, asked in
sepulchral tones —

" Madam, what would you have us do with your
husband's corpse ? "

And when the queen made no answer, they went
down again slowly to the garden, and kneeling one
at the head, the other at the foot of the dead man,
they began to recite penitential psalms in a low
voice. When they had spent an hour in prayer, two
other monks went up in the same way to Joan's
chamber, repeating the same question and getting
no answer, whereupon they relieved the first two,
and began themselves to pray. Next a third couple
went to the door of this inexorable room, and com-
ing away perturbed by their want of success, per-
ceived that there was a disturbance of people out-
side the convent, while vengeful cries were heard
amongst the indignant crowd. The groups became
more and more thronged, threatening voices were
raised, a torrent of invaders threatened the royal
dwelling, when the queen's guard appeared, lance
in readiness, and a litter closely shut, surrounded
by the principal barons of the court, passed through
the crowd, which stood stupidly gazing. Joan,
wrapped in a black veil, went back to Castel Nuovo,
amid her escort ; and nobody, say the historians, had
the courage to say a word about this terrible deed.

1880

'J"o hang you with, my lord," rejilicd the Queen, with a smile

—p. 1865
From the orh/hial illiitit ration by L, Botdanger

CHAPTER V

THE terrible part that Charles of Durazzo was
to play began as soon as this crime was
accomplished. The duke left the corpse two whole
days exposed to the wind and the rain, unburied
and dishonoured, the corpse of a man whom the
pope had made King of Sicily and Jerusalem, so that
the indignation of the mob might be increased by
the dreadful sight. On the third he ordered it to be
conveyed with the utmost pomp to the cathedral of
Naples, and assembling all the Hungarians around
the catafalque, he thus addressed them, in a voice
of thunder: —

" Nobles and commoners, behold our king hanged
like a dog by infamous traitors. God will soon
make known to us the names of all the guilty : let
those who desire that justice may be done hold up
their hands and swear against murderers bloody
persecution, implacable hatred, everlasting ven-
geance ! "

It was this one man's cry that brought death and
desolation to the murderers' hearts, and the people
dispersed about the town, shrieking, " Vengeance,
vengeance ! "

TftRi Duuius— Vul. U— D

JOAN OF NAPLES

Divine justice, which knows naught of privilege
and respects no crown, struck Joan first of all in
her love. Wlien the two lovers first met, both were
seized alike with terror and disgust; they recoiled
trembling, the queen seeing in Bertrand her hus-
band's executioner, and he in her the cause of his
crime, possibly of his speedy punishment. Ber-
trand's looks were disordered, his cheeks hollow, his
eyes encircled with black rings, his mouth horribly
distorted ; his arm and forefinger extended towards
his accomplice, he seemed to behold a frightful
vision rising before him. The same cord he had
used when he strangled Andre, he now saw round
the queen's neck, so tight that it made its way into
her flesh: an invisible force, a Satanic impulse,
urged him to strangle with his own hands the
woman he had loved so dearly, had at one time
adored on his knees. The count rushed out of
the room with gestures of desperation, muttering
incoherent words; and as he shewed plain signs of
mental aberration, his father, Charles of Artois,
took him away, and they went that same evening to
their palace of St. Agatha, and there prepared a
defence in case they should be attacked.

But Joan's punishment, which was destined to be
slow as well as dreadful, to last thirty-seven years
and end in a ghastly death, was now only begin-
ning. All the wretched beings who were stained

1882

JOAN OF NAPLES

with Andre's death came in turn to her to demand
the price of blood. The Catanese and her son, who
held in their hands not only the queen's honour but
her life, now became doubly greedy and exacting.
Dona Cancha no longer put any bridle on her licen-
tiousness; and the Empress of Constantinople or-
dered her niece to marry her eldest son, Robert,
Prince of Tarentum. Joan, consumed by remorse,
full of indignation and shame at the arrogant con-
duct of her subjects, dared scarcely lift her head,
and stooped to entreaties, only stipulating for a
few days' delay before giving her answer: the
empress consented, on condition that her son should
come to reside at Castel Nuovo, with permission
to see the queen once a day. Joan bowed her head
in silence, and Robert of Tarentum was installed
at the castle.

Charles of Durazzo, who by the death of Andre
had practically become the head of the family, and
would, by the terms of his grandfather's will, in-
herit the kingdom by right of his wife Marie in the
case of Joan's dying without lawful issue, sent to
the queen two commands : first, that she should not
dream of contracting a new marriage without first
consulting him in the choice of a husband ; secondly,
that she should invest him at once with the title of
Duke of Calabria. To compel his cousin to make
these two concessions, he added that if she should

1883

CELEBRATED CRIMES

be so ill advised as to refuse either of them, he
should hand over to justice the proofs of the crime
and the names of the murderers. Joan, bending
beneath the weight of this new difficulty, could think
of no way to avoid it ; but Catherine, who alone was
stout enough to fight this nephew of hers, insisted
that they must strike at the Duke of Durazzo in his
ambition and hopes, and tell him, to begin with —
what was the fact — that the queen was pregnant.
If, in spite of this news, he persisted in his plans,
she would find some means or other, she said, of
causing trouble and discord in her nephew's family,
and wounding him in his most intimate affections
or closest interests, by publicly dishonouring him
through his wife or his mother.

Charles smiled coldly when his aunt came to tell
him from the queen that she was about to bring into
the world an infant, Andre's posthumous child.
What importance could a babe yet unborn possibly
have — as a fact, it lived only a few months — in the
eyes of a man who with such admirable coolness
got rid of people who stood in his way, and that
moreover by the hand of his own enemies ? He told
the empress that the happy news she had con-
descended to bring him in person, far from dimin-
ishing his kindness towards his cousin, inspired him
rather with more interest and goodwill; that conse-
quently he reiterated his suggestion, and renewed

1884

JOAN OF NAPLES

his promise not to seek vengeance for his dear An-
dre, since in a certain sense the crime was not com-
plete should a child be destined to survive; but in
case of a refusal he declared himself inexorable.
He cleverly gave Catherine to understand that, as
she had some interest herself in the prince's death,
she ought for her own sake to persuade the queen .
to stop legal proceedings.

The empress seemed to be deeply impressed by
her nephew's threatening attitude, and promised to
do her best to persuade the queen to grant all he
asked, on condition, however, that Charles should
allow the necessary time for carrying through so
delicate a business. But Catherine profited by this
delay to think out her own plan of revenge, and
ensure the means of certain success. After start-
ing several projects eagerly and then regretfully
abandoning them, she fixed upon an infernal and
unheard-of scheme, which the mind would refuse
to believe but for the unanimous testimony of his-
torians. Poor Agnes of Duras, Charles's mother, ,'
had for some few days been suffering with an inex-
plicable weariness, a slow painful malady with which
her son's restlessness and violence may have had
not a little to do. The empress resolved that the
first effect of her hatred was to fall upon this un-
happy mother. She summoned the Count of Ter-
lizzi and Dona Cancha, his mistress, who by the

1885

CELEBRATED CRIMES

queen's orders had been attending Agnes since her
illness began, Catherine suggested to the young
chamberwoman, who was at that time with child,
that she should deceive the doctor by representing
that certain signs of her own condition really be-
longed to the sick woman, so that he, deceived by
the false indications, should be compelled to admit
to Charles of Durazzo that his mother was guilty
and dishonoured. The Count of Terlizzi, who ever
since he had taken part in the regicide trembled in
fear of discovery, had nothing to oppose to the
empress's desire, and Doiia Cancha, whose head was
as light as her heart was corrupt, seized with a
foolish gaiety on any chance of taking her revenge
on the prudery of the only princess of the blood
who led a pure life at a court that was renowned
for its depravity. Once assured that her accom-
plices would be prudent and obedient, Catherine
began to spread abroad certain vague and dubious
but terribly serious rumours, only needing proof,
and soon after the cruel accusation was started it
was repeated again and again in confidence, until it
reached the ears of Charles.

At this amazing revelation the duke was seized
with a fit of trembling. He sent instantly for the
doctor, and asked imperiously what was the cause
of his mother's malady. The doctor turned pale
and stammered; but when Charles grew threaten-

1886

JOAN OF NAPLES

ing he admitted that he had certain grounds for sus-
pecting that the duchess was enceinte, but as he
might easily have been deceived the first time, he
would make a second investigation before pro-
nouncing his opinion in so serious a matter. The
next day, as the doctor came out of the bedroom,
the duke met him, and interrogating him with an
agonised gesture, could only judge by the silence
that his fears were too well confirmed. But the
doctor, with excess of caution, declared that he
would make a third trial. Condemned criminals
can suffer no worse than Charles in the long hours
that passed before that fatal moment when he
learned that his mother was indeed guilty. On the
third day the doctor stated on his soul and con-
science that Agnes of Durazzo was pregnant.

" Very good," said Charles, dismissing the doc-
tor with no sign of emotion.

That evening the duchess took a medicine or-
dered by the doctor; and when, half an hour later,
she was assailed with violent pains, the duke was
warned that perhaps other physicians ought to be
consulted, as the prescription of the ordinary doc-
tor, instead of bringing about an improvement in
her state, had only made her worse.

Charles slowly went up to the duchess's room,
and sending away all the people who were standing
round her bed, on the pretext that they were clumsy

1887

CELEBRATED CRIMES

and made his mother worse, he shut the door, and
they were alone. The poor Agnes, forgetting her
internal agony when she saw her son, pressed his
hand tenderly and smiled through her tears.

Charles, pale beneath his bronzed complexion, his
forehead moist with a cold sweat, and his eyes hor-
ribly dilated, bent over the sick woman and asked
her gloomily —

" Are you a little better, mother? "

" Ah, I am in pain, in frightful pain, my poor
Charles. I feel as though I have molten lead in
my veins. O my son, call your brothers, so that I
may give you all my blessing for the last time, for
I cannot hold out long against this pain. I am
burning. Mercy ! Call a doctor : I know I have
been poisoned."

Charles did not stir from the bedside.

"Water!" cried the dying woman in a broken
voice, — "water! A doctor, a confessor! My chil-
dren — I want my children! "

And as the duke paid no heed, but stood moodily
silent, the poor mother, prostrated by pain, fancied
that grief had robbed her son of all power of speech
or movement, and so, by a desperate effort, sat Up,
and seizing him by the arm, cried with all the
strength she could muster —

"Charles, my son, what is it? My poor boy,
courage; it is nothing, I hope. But quick, call for

1888

JOAN OF NAPLES

help, call a doctor. Ah, you have no idea of what
I suffer."

" Your doctor," said Charles slowly and coldly,
each word piercing his mother's heart like a dagger,
— " your doctor cannot come."

" Oh why? " asked Agnes, stupefied.

" Because no one ought to live who knows the
secret of our shame,"

" Unhappy man ! " she cried, overwhelmed with
pain and terror, " you have murdered him ! Per-
haps you have poisoned your mother too ! Charles,
Charles, have mercy on your own soul ! "

" It is your doing," said Charles, without show
of emotion: "you have driven me into crime and
despair ; you have caused my dishonour in this world
and my damnation in the next."

" What are you saying? My own Charles, have
mercy ! Do not let me die in this horrible uncer-
tainty ; what fatal delusion is blinding you ? Speak,
my son, speak: I am not feeling the poison now.
What have I done ? Of what have I been accused ? "

She looked with haggard eyes at her son : her
maternal love still struggled against the awful
thought of matricide; at last, seeing that Charles
remained speechless in spite of her entreaties, she
repeated, with a piercing cry —

"Speak, in God's name, speak before I die!"

" Mother, you are with child."
1889

CELEBRATED CRIMES

" What ! " cried Agnes, with a loud cry, which
broke her very heart. " O God, forgive him !
Charles, your mother forgives and blesses you in
death."

Charles fell upon her neck, desperately crying
for help : he would now have gladly saved her at the
cost of his life, but it was too late. He uttered one
cry that came from his heart, and was found
stretched out upon his mother's corpse.

Strange comments were made at the court on the
death of the Duchess of Durazzo and her doctor's
disappearance; but there was no doubt at all that
grief and gloom were furrowing wrinkles on
Charles's brow, which was already sad enough.
Catherine alone knew the terrible cause of her
nephew's depression, for to her it was very plain
that the duke at one blow had killed his mother and
her physician. But she had never expected a reac-
tion so sudden and violent in a man who shrank
before no crime. She had thought Charles capable
of everything except remorse. His gloomy, self-
absorbed silence seemed a bad augury for her plans.
She had desired to cause trouble for him in his own
family, so that he might have no time to oppose the
marriage of her son with the queen; but she had
shot beyond her mark, and Charles, started thus on
the terrible path of crime, had now broken through
the bonds of his holiest afifections, and gave himself

1890

JOAN OF NAPLES

up to his bad passions with feverish ardour and a
savage desire for revenge. Then Catherine had
recourse to gentleness and submission. She gave
her son to understand that there was only one way
of obtaining the queen's hand, and that was by
flattering the ambition of Charles and in some sort
submitting himself to his patronage. Robert of
Tarentum understood this, and ceased making court
to Joan, who received his devotion with cool kind-
ness, and attached himself closely to Charles, paying
him much the same sort of respect and deference
that he himself had affected for Andre, when the
thought was first in his mind of causing his ruin.
But the Duke of Durazzo was by no means deceived
as to the devoted friendship shown towards him by
the heir of the house of Tarentum, and pretending
to be deeply touched by the unexpected change of
feeling, he all the time kept a strict guard on Rob-
ert's actions.

An event outside all human foresight occurred to
upset the calculations of the two cousins. One day
while they were out together on horseback, as they
often were since their pretended reconciliation, Louis
of Tarentum, Robert's youngest brother, who had
always felt for Joan a chivalrous, innocent love, — a
love which a young man of twenty is apt to lock
up in his heart as a secret treasure, — Louis, we say,
who had held aloof from the infamous family con-

1891

CELEBRATED CRIMES

spiracy and had not soiled his hands with Andre's
blood, drawn on by an irrepressible passion, all at
once appeared at the gates of Castel Nuovo ; and
while his brother was wasting precious hours in
asking for a promise of marriage, had the bridge
raised and gave the soldiers strict orders to admit
no one. Then, never troubling himself about
Charles's anger or Robert's jealousy, he hurried to
the queen's room, and there, says Domenico Gra-
vina, without any preamble, the union was con-
summated.

On returning from his ride, Robert, astonished
that the bridge was not at once lowered for him,
at first loudly called upon the soldiers on guard at
the fortress, threatening severe punishment for
their unpardonable negligence ; but as the gates did
not open and the soldiers made no sign of fear or
regret, he fell into a violent fit of rage, and swore
he would hang the wretches like dogs for hinder-
ing his return home. But the Empress of Constan-
tinople, terrified at the bloody quarrel beginning be-
tween the two brothers, went alone and on foot to
her son, and making use of her maternal authority
to beg him to master his feelings, there in the pres-
ence of the crowd that had come up hastily to wit-
ness the strange scene, she related in a low voice
all that had passed in his absence.

A roar as of a wounded tiger escaped from Rob-
1892

JOAN OF NAPLES

ert's breast : all but blind with rage, he nearly
trampled his mother under the feet of his horse,
which seemed to feel his master's anger, and plung-
ing violently, breathed blood from his nostrils.
When the prince had poured every possible execra-
tion on his brother's head, he turned and galloped
away from the accursed castle, flying to the Duke
of Durazzo, whom he had only just left, to tell him
of this outrage and stir him to revenge. Charles
was talking carelessly with his young wife, who
was but little used to such tranquil conversation and
expansiveness, when the Prince of Tarentum, ex-
hausted, out of breath, bathed in perspiration, came
up with his incredible tale. Charles made him say
it twice over, so impossible did Louis's audacious
enterprise appear to him. Then quickly changing
from doubt to fury, he struck his brow with his
iron glove, saying that as the queen defied him he
would make her tremble even in her castle and in
her lover's arms. He threw one witheringr- look on
Marie, who interceded tearfully for her sister, and
pressing Robert's hand with warmth, vowed that
so long as he lived Louis should never be Joan's
husband.

That same evening he shut himself up in his
study, and wrote letters whose effect soon appeared.
A bull, dated June 2, 1346, was addressed to Ber-
tram de Baux, chief-justice of the kingdom of

1893

CELEBRATED CRIMES

Sicily and Count of Monte Scaglioso, with orders
to make the most strict inquiries concerning An-
dre's murderers, whom the pope hkewise laid under
his anathema, and to punish them with the utmost
rigour of the law. But a secret note was appended
to the bull which was quite at variance with the
designs of Charles : the sovereign pontiff expressly
bade the chief-justice not to implicate the queen in
the proceedings or the princes of the blood, so as
to avoid worse disturbances, reserving, as supreme
head of the Church and lord of the kingdom, the
right of judging them later on, as his wisdom might
dictate.

For this imposing trial Bertram de Baux made
great preparations. A platform was erected in the
great hall of tribunal, and all the officers of the
crown and great state dignitaries, and all the chief
barons, had a place behind the enclosure where the
magistrates sat. Three days after Clement vi's
bull had been published in the capital, the chief-
justice was ready for a public examination of two
accused persons. The two culprits who had first
fallen into the hands of justice were, as one may
easily suppose, those whose condition was least ex-
alted, whose lives were least valuable, Tommaso
Pace and Nicholas of Melazzo. They were led
before the tribunal to be first of all tortured, as
the custom was. As they approached the judges,

1894

JOAN OF NAPLES

the notary passing by Charles in the street had time
to say in a low voice —

" My lord, the time has come to give my life for
you: I will do my duty; I commend my wife and
children to you."

Encouraged by a nod from his patron, he walked
on firmly and deliberately. The chief-justice, after
establishing the identity of the accused, gave them
over to the executioner and his men to be tortured
in the public square, so that their sufferings might
serve as a show and an example to the crowd. But
no sooner was Tommaso Pace tied to the rope, when
to the great disappointment of all he declared that
he would confess everything, and asked accordingly
to be taken back before his judges. At these words,
the Count of Terlizzi, who was following every
movement of the two men with mortal anxiety,
thought it was all over now with him and his accom-
plices; and so, when Tommaso Pace was turning
his steps towards the great hall, led by two guards,
his hands tied behind his back, and followed by the
notary, he contrived to take him into a secluded
house, and squeezing his throat with great force,
made him thus put his tongue out, whereupon he
cut it off with a sharp razor.

The yells of the poor wretch so cruelly mutilated
fell on the ears of the Duke of Durazzo: he found
his way into the room where the barbarous act had

1895

CELEBRATED CRIMES

been committed just as the Count of Terlizzi was
coming out, and approached the notary, who had
been present at the dreadful spectacle and had not
given the least sign of fear or emotion. Master
Nicholas, thinking the same fate was in store for
him, turned calmly to the duke, saying with a sad
smile —

" My lord, the precaution is useless ; there is no
need for you to cut out my tongue, as the noble
count has done to my poor companion. The last
scrap of my flesh may be torn off without one word
being dragged from my mouth. I have promised,
my lord, and you have the life of my wife and the
future of my children as guarantee for my word."

" I do not ask for silence," said the duke sol-
emnly ; *' you can free me from all my enemies at
once, and I order you to denounce them at the
tribunal."

The notary bowed his head with mournful resig-
nation; then raising it in affright, made one step
up to the duke and murmured in a choking voice — •

" And the queen ? "

" No one would believe you if you ventured to
■ denounce her; but when the Catanese and her son,
the Count of Terlizzi and his wife and her most
intimate friends, have been accused by you, when
they fail to endure the torture, and when they de-
nounce her unanimously "

1896

JOAN OF NAPLES

" I see, my lord. You do not only want my
life; you would have my soul too. Very well; once
more I commend to you my children."

With a deep sigh he walked up to the tribunal.
The chief-justice asked Tommaso Pace the usual
questions, and a shudder of horror passed through
the assembly when they saw the poor wretch in
desperation opening his mouth, which streamed
with blood. But surprise and terror reached their
height when Nicholas of Melazzo slowly and firmly
gave a list of Andre's murderers, all except the
queen and the princes of the blood, and went on to
give all details of the assassination.

Proceedings were at once taken for the arrest
of the grand seneschal, Robert of Cabane, and the
Counts of Terlizzi and Morcone, who were present
and had not ventured to make any movement in self-
defence. An hour later, Philippa, her two daugh-
ters, and Dofia Cancha joined them in prison, after
vainly imploring the queen's protection. Charles
and Bertrand of Artois, shut up in their fortress of
Saint Agatha, bade defiance to justice, and several
others, among them the Counts of Meleto and Cat-
anzaro, escaped by flight.

As soon as Master Nicholas said he had nothing
further to confess, and that he had spoken the whole
truth and nothing but the truth, the chief-justice
pronounced sentence amid a profound silence; and

1897

CELEBRATED CRIMES

without delay Tommaso Pace and the notary were
tied to the tails of two horses, dragged through the
chief streets of the town, and hanged in the market-
place.

The other prisoners were thrown into a subter-
ranean vault, to be questioned and put to the torture
on the following day. In the evening, finding them-
selves in the same dungeon, they reproached one
another, each pretending he had been dragged into
the crime by someone else. Then Doiia Cancha,
whose strange character knew no inconsistencies,
even face to face with death and torture, drowned
with a great burst of laughter the lamentations of
her companions, and joyously exclaimed —

" Look here, friends, why these bitter recrim-
inations — this ill-mannered raving? We have no
excuses to make, and we are all equally guilty. I
am the youngest of all, and not the ugliest, — by
your leave, ladies, — but if I am condemned, at least
I will die cheerfully. For I have never denied my-
self any pleasure I could get in this world, and I
can boast that much will be forgiven me, for I have
loved much : of that you, gentlemen, know some-
thing. You, bad old man," she continued to the
Count of Terlizzi, " do you not remember lying by
my side in the queen's ante-chamber? Come, no
blushes before your noble family; confess, my lord,
that I am v/ith child by your Excellency; and you

1898

JOAN OF NAPLES

know how we managed to make up the story of poor
Agnes of Durazzo and her pregnancy — God rest
her soul! For my part, I never supposed the joke
would take such a serious turn all at once. You
know all this and much more; spare your lamenta-
tions, for, by my word, they are getting very tire-
some: let us prepare to die joyously, as we have
lived."

With these words she yawned slightly, and, lying
down on the straw, fell into a deep sleep, and
dreamed as happy dreams as she had ever dreamed
in her life.

On the morrow from break of day there was an
immense crowd on the sea front. During the night
an enormous palisade had been put up to keep the
people away far enough for them to see the accused
without hearing anything. Charles of Durazzo, at
the head of a brilliant cortege of knights and pages,
mounted on a magnificent horse, all in black, as a
sign of mourning, waited near the enclosure. Fero-
cious joy shone in his eyes as the accused made their
way through the crowd, two by two, their wrists
tied with ropes ; for the duke every minute expected
to hear the queen's name spoken. But the chief-
justice, a man of experience, had prevented indis-
cretion of any kind by fixing a hook in the tongue
of each one. The poor creatures were tortured
on a ship, so that nobody should hear the ter-

1899

CELEBRATED CRIMES

rible confessions their sufferings dragged from
them.

But Joan, in spite of the ^vrongs that most of the
conspirators had done her, felt a renewal of pity
for the woman she had once respected as a mother,
for her childish companions and her friends, and
possibly also some remains of love for Robert of
Cabane, and sent two messengers to beg Bertram
de Baux to show mercy to the culprits. But the
chief-justice seized these men and had them tor-
tured; and on their confession that they also were
implicated in Andre's murder, he condemned them
to the same punishment as the others. Dona Can-
cha alone, by reason of her situation, escaped the
torture, and her sentence was deferred till the day of
her confinement.

As this beautiful girl was returning to prison,
with many a smile for all the handsomest cavaliers
she could see in the crowd, she gave a sign to Charles
of Durazzo as she neared him to come forward, and
since her tongue had not been pierced ( for the same
reason) with an iron instrument, she said some
words to him a while in a low voice.

Charles turned fearfully pale, and putting his
hand to his sword, cried —

" Wretched woman ! "

" You forget, my lord, I am under the protection
of the law."

1900

JOAN OF NAPLES

" My mother! — oh, my poor mother! " murmured
Charles in a choked voice, and he fell backward.

The next morning the people were beforehand
with the executioner, loudly demanding their prey.
All the national troops and mercenaries that the
judicial authorities could command were echelonned
in the streets, opposing a sort of dam to the torrent
of the raging crowd. The sudden insatiable cruelty
that too often degrades human nature had awaked
in the populace: all heads were turned with hatred
and frenzy ; all imaginations inflamed with the pas-
sion for revenge; groups of men and women, roar-
ing like wild beasts, threatened to knock down the
walls of the prison, if the condemned were not
handed over to them to take to the place of punish-
ment: a great murmur arose, continuous, ever the
same, like the growling of thunder: the queen's
heart was petrified with terror.

But, in spite of the desire of Bertram de Baux to
satisfy the popular wish, the preparations for the
solemn execution were not completed till midday,
when the sun's rays fell scorchingly upon the town.
There went up a mighty cry from ten thousand pal-
pitating breasts when a report first ran through the
crowd that the prisoners were about to appear.
There was a moment of silence, and the prison doors
rolled slowly back on their hinges with a rusty, grat-
ing noise. A triple row of horsemen, with lowered

1901

CELEBRATED CRIMES

visor and lance in rest, started the procession, and
amid yells and curses the condemned prisoners came
out one by one, each tied upon a cart, gagged and
naked to the waist, in charge of two executioners,
whose orders were to torture them the whole length
of their way. On the first cart was the former
laundress of Catana, afterwards wife of the grand
seneschal and governess to the queen, Philippa of
Cabane: the two executioners at right and left of
her scourged her with such fury that the blood
spurting up from the wounds left a long track in
all the streets passed by the cortege.

Immediately following their mother on separate
carts came the Countesses of Terlizzi and Morcone,
the elder no more than eighteen years of age. The
two sisters were so marvellously beautiful that in
the crowd a murmur of surprise was heard, and
greedy eyes were fixed upon their naked trembling
shoulders. But the men charged to torture them
gazed with ferocious smiles upon their forms of
seductive beauty, and, armed with sharp knives, cut
off pieces of their flesh with a deliberate enjoyment
and threw them out to the crowd, who eagerly
struggled to get them, signing to the executioners
to show which part of the victims' bodies they
preferred.

Robert of Cabane, the grand seneschal, the Counts
of Terlizzi and Morcone, Raymond Pace, brother

1902

JOAN OF NAPLES

of the old valet who had been executed the day be-
fore, and many more, were dragged on similar
carts, and both scourged with ropes and slashed with
knives ; their flesh was torn out with red-hot pincers,
and flung upon brazen chafing-dishes. No cry of
pain was heard from the grand seneschal, he never
stirred once in his frightful agony; yet the torturers
put such fury into their work that the poor wretch
was dead before the goal was reached.

In the centre of the square of Saint Eligius an
immense stake was set up : there the prisoners were
taken, and what was left of their mutilated bodies
was thrown into the flames. The Count of Ter-
lizzi and the grand seneschal's widow were still
alive, and two tears of blood ran down the cheeks
of the miserable mother as she saw her son's corpse
and the palpitating remains of her two daughters
cast upon the fire — they by their stifled cries showed
that they had not ceased to suffer. But suddenly
a fearful noise overpowered the groans of the vic-
tims; the enclosure was broken and overturned by
the mob. Like madmen, they rushed at the burning
pile, armed with sabres, axes, and knives, and
snatching the bodies dead or alive from the flames,
tore them to pieces, carrying off the bones to make
whistles or handles for their daggers as a souvenir
of this horrible day.

1903

CHAPTER VI

THE spectacle of this frightful punishment did
not satisfy the revenge of Charles of Du-
razzo. Seconded by the chief-justice, he daily
brought about fresh executions, till Andre's death
came to be no more than a pretext for the legal
murder of all who opposed his projects. But Louis
of Tarentum, who had won Joan's heart, and was
eagerly trying to get the necessary dispensation for
legalising the marriage, from this time forward took
as a personal insult every act of the high court of
justice which was performed against his will and
against the queen's prerogative: he armed all his
adherents, increasing their number by all the adven-
turers he could get together, and so put on foot a
strong enough force to support his own party and
resist his cousin. Naples was thus split up into
hostile camps, ready to come to blows on the small-
est pretext, whose daily skirmishes, moreover, were
always followed by some scene of pillage or
death.

But Louis had need of money both to pay his
mercenaries and to hold his own against the Duke

1904

JOAN OF NAPLES

of Durazzo and his own brother Robert, and one
day he discovered that the queen's coffers were
empty. Joan was wTctched and desperate, and her
lover, though generous and brave and anxious to
reassure her so far as he could, did not very clearly
see how to extricate himself from such a difficult
situation. But his mother Catherine, whose ambi-
tion was satisfied in seeing one of her sons, no mat-
ter which, attain to the throne of Naples, came
unexpectedly to their aid, promising solemnly that
it would only take her a few days to be able to lay
at her niece's feet a treasure richer than anything
she had ever dreamed of, queen as she was.

The empress then took half her son's troops, made
for Saint Agatha, and besieged the fortress where
Charles and Bertrand of Artois had taken refuge
when they fled from justice. The old count, aston-
ished at the sight of this woman, who had been the
very soul of the conspiracy, and not in the least
understanding her arrival as an enemy, sent out to
ask the intention of this display of military force.
To which Catherine replied in words which we
translate literally: —

" My friends, tell Charles, our faithful friend,
that we desire to speak with him privately and
alone concerning a matter equally interesting to
us both, and he is not to be alarmed at our arriving
in the guise of an enemy, for this we have done

1905

CELEBRATED CRIMES

designedly, as we shall explain in the course of our
interview. We know he is confined to bed by the
gout, and therefore feel no surprise at his not com-
ing out to meet us. Have the goodness to salute
him on our part and reassure him, telling him that
we desire to come in, if such is his good pleasure,
with our intimate counsellor, Nicholas Acciajuoli,
and ten soldiers only, to speak with him concerning
an important matter that cannot be entrusted to
go-betweens."

Entirely reassured by these frank, friendly ex-
planations, Charles of Artois sent out his son Ber-
trand to the empress to receive her with the respect
due to her rank and high position at the court of
Naples. Catherine went promptly to the castle with
many signs of joy, and inquiring after the count's
health and expressing her affection, as soon as they
were alone, she mysteriously lowered her voice and
explained that the object of her visit was to consult
a man of tried experience on the affairs of Naples,
and to beg his active co-operation in the queen's
favour. As, however, she was not pressed for time,
she could wait at Saint Agatha for the count's
recovery to hear his views and tell him of the march
of events since he left the court. She succeeded so
well in gaining the old man's confidence and banish-
ing his suspicions, that he begged her to honour
them with her presence as long as she was able, and

1906

JOAN OF NAPLES

little by little received all her men within the walls.
This was what Catherine was waiting for: on the
very day when her army was installed at Saint Aga-
tha, she suddenly entered the count's room, fol-
lowed by four soldiers, and seizing the old man by
the throat, exclaimed wrath fully —

" Miserable traitor, you will not escape from our
hands before you have received the punishment you
deserv^e. In the meanwhile, show me where your
treasure is hidden, if you would not have me throw
your body out to feed the crows that are swooping
around these dungeons."

The count, half choking, the dagger at his breast,
did not even attempt to call for help ; he fell on his
knees, begging the empress to save at least the life
of his son, who was not yet well from the terrible
attack of melancholia that had shaken his reason
ever since the catastrophe. Then he painfully
dragged himself to the place where he had hid-
den his treasure, and pointing with his finger,
cried —

" Take all; take my life; but spare my son."

Catherine could not contain herself for joy when
she saw spread out at her feet exquisite and incred-
ibly valuable cups, caskets of pearls, diamonds and
rubies of marvellous value, coffers full of gold
ingots, and all the wonders of Asia that surpass the
wildest imagination. But when the old man, trem-

1907

CELEBRATED CRIMES

bling, begged for the liberty of his son as the price
of his fortune and his own hfe, the empress resumed
her cold, pitiless manner, and harshly replied —

" I have already given orders for your son to be
brought here; but prepare for an eternal farewell,
for he is to be taken to the fortress of Melfi, and you
in all probability will end your days beneath the
castle of Saint Agatha."

The grief of the poor count at this violent separa-
tion was so great, that a few days later he was
found dead in his dungeon, his lips covered with
a bloody froth, his hands gnawed in despair. Ber-
trand did not long survive him. He actually lost
his reason when he heard of his father's death, and
hanged himself on the prison grating. Thus did the
murderers of Andre destroy one another, like ven-
omous animals shut up in the same cage.

Catherine of Tarentum, carrying off the treasure
she had so gained, arrived at the court of Naples,
proud of her triumph and contemplating vast
schemes. But new troubles had come about in her
absence. Charles of Durazzo, for the last time
desiring the queen to give him the duchy of Cala-
bria, a title which had always belonged to the heir
presumptive, and angered by her refusal, had writ-
ten to Louis of Hungary, inviting him to take pos-
session of the kingdom, and promising to help in
the enterprise with all his own forces, and to give up

1908

JOAN OF NAPLES

the principal authors of his brother's death, who till
now had escaped justice.

The King of Hungary eagerly accepted these
offers, and got ready an army to avenge Andre's
death and proceed to the conquest of Naples. The
tears of his mother Elizabeth and the advice of
Friar Robert, the old minister, who had fled to
Buda, confirmed him in his projects of vengeance.
He had already lodged a bitter complaint at the
court of Avignon that, while the inferior assassins
had been punished, she who was above all others
guilty had been shamefully let off scot free, and
though still stained with her husband's blood, con-
tinued to live a life of debauchery and adultery.
The pope replied soothingly that, so far as it de-
pended upon him, he would not be found slow to
give satisfaction to a lawful grievance; but the ac-
cusation ought to be properly formulated and sup-
ported by proof ; that no doubt Joan's conduct dur-
ing and after her husband's death was blamable;
but His Majesty must consider that the Church of
Rome, which before all things seeks truth and jus-
tice, always proceeds with the utmost circumspec-
tion, and in so grave a matter more especially must
not judge by appearances only.

Joan, frightened by the preparations for war,
sent ambassadors to the Florentine Republic, to as-
sert her innocence of the crime imputed to her by

1909

CELEBRATED CRIMES

public opinion, and did not hesitate to send ex-
cuses even to the Hungarian court; but Andre's
brother repHed in a letter laconic and threatening : — •

" Your former disorderly life, the arrogation to
yourself of exclusive power, your neglect to punish
your husband's murderers, your marriage to an-
other husband, moreover your own excuses, are all
sufficient proofs that you were an accomplice in the
murder."

Catherine would not be put out of heart by the
King of Hungary's threats, and looking at the posi-
tion of the queen and her son with a coolness that
was never deceived, she was convinced that there
was no other means of safety except a reconciliation
with Charles, their mortal foe, which could only be
brought about by giving him all he wanted. It was
one of two things: either he would help them to
repulse the King of Hungary, and later on they
would pay the cost when the dangers were less
pressing, or he would be beaten himself, and thus
they would at least have the pleasure of drawing him
down with them in their own destruction.

The agreement was made in the gardens of Castel
Nuovo, whither Charles had repaired on the invita-
tion of the queen and her aunt. To her cousin of
Durazzo Joan accorded the title so much desired of
Duke of Calabria, and Charles, feeling that he was
hereby made heir to the kingdom, marched at once

1910

JOAN OF NAPLES

on Aquila, which town already was flying the Hun-
garian colours. The wretched man did not foresee
that he was going straight to his destruction.

When the Empress of Constantinople saw this
man, whom she hated above all others, depart in
joy, she looked contemptuously upon him, divining
by a woman's instinct that mischief would befall
him ; then, having no further mischief to do, no fur-
ther treachery on earth, no further revenge to sat-
isfy, she all at once succumbed to some unknown
malady, and died suddenly, without uttering a cry
or exciting a single regret.

But the King of Hungary, who had crossed Italy
with a formidable army, now entered the kingdom
from the side of Aquila : on his way he had every-
where received marks of interest and sympathy;
and Alberto and Mertino della Scala, lords of
Verona, had given him three hundred horse to prove
that all their goodwill was with him in his enter-
prise. The news of the arrival of the Hungarians
threw the court into a state of confusion impossible
to describe. They had hoped that the king would
be stopped by the pope's legate, who had come to
Foligno to forbid him, in the name of the Holy
Father, and on pain of excommunication to proceed
any further without his consent ; but Louis of Hun-
gary replied to the pope's legate that, once master
of Naples, he should consider himself a feudatory

1911

CELEBRATED CRIT.IES

of the Church, but till then he had no obligations
except to God and his own conscience. Thus the
avenging army fell like a thunderbolt upon the
heart of the kingdom, before there was any thought
of taking serious measures for defence. There was
only one plan possible : the queen assembled the
barons who were most strongly attached to her,
made them swear homage and fidelity to Louis of
Tarentum, whom she presented to them as her hus-
band, and then leaving with many tears her most
faithful subjects, she embarked secretly, in the mid-
dle of the night, on a ship of Provence, and made
for Marseilles. Louis of Tarentum, following the
prompting of his adventure-loving character, left
Naples at the head of three thousand horse and a
considerable number of foot, and took up his post
on the banks of the Voltorno, there to contest the
enemy's passage; but the King of Hungary foresaw
the stratagem, and while his adversary was waiting
for him at Capua, he arrived at Beneventum by the
mountains of Alife and Morcone, and on the same
day received Neapolitan envoys : they in a magnifi-
cent display of eloquence congratulated him on his
entrance, offered the keys of the town, and swore
obedience to him as being the legitimate successor
of Charles of Anjou. The news of the surrender
of Naples soon reached the queen's camp, and all
the princes of the blood and the generals left Louis

1912

JOAN OF NAPLES

of Tarentum and took refuge in the capital. Re-
sistance was impossible. Louis, accompanied by his
counsellor, Nicholas Acciajuoli, went to Naples on
the same evening on which his relatives quitted the
town to get away from the enemy. Every hope of
safety was vanishing as the hours passed by; his
brothers and cousins begged him to go at once, so
as not to draw down upon the town the king's ven-
geance, but unluckily there was no ship in the har-
bour that was ready to set sail. The terror of the
princes was at its height ; but Louis, trusting in his
luck, started with the brave Acciajuoli in an unsea-
worthy boat, and ordering four sailors to row with
all their might, in a few minutes disappeared, leav-
ing his family in a great state of anxiety till they
learned that he had reached Pisa, whither he had
gone to join the queen in Provence. Charles of
Durazzo and Robert of Tarentum, who were the
eldest respectively of the two branches of the royal
family, after hastily consulting, decided to soften
the Hungarian monarch's wrath by a complete sub-
mission. Leaving their young brothers at Naples,
they accordingly set off for Aversa, where the king
was. Louis received them with every mark of
friendship, and asked with much interest why their
brothers were not with them. The princes replied
that their young brothers had stayed at Naples to
prepare a worthy reception for His Majesty. Louis

191 3 Dumas— Vol. G— E

CELEBRATED CRIMES

thanked them for their kind intentions, but begged
them to invite the young princes now, saying that
it would be infinitely more pleasant to enter Naples
with all his family, and that he was most anxious
to see his cousins. Charles and Robert, to please the
king, sent equerries to bid their brothers come to
Aversa; but Louis of Durazzo, the eldest of the boys,
with many tears begged the others not to obey, and
sent a message that he was prevented by a violent
headache from leaving Naples. So puerile an excuse
could not fail to annoy Charles, and the same day
he compelled the unfortunate boys to appear before
the king, sending a formal order which admitted of
no delay. Louis of Hungary embraced them
warmly one after the other, asked them several
questions in an affectionate way, kept them to sup-
per, and only let them go quite late at night.

When the Duke of Durazzo reached his room,
Lello of Aquila and the Count of Fondi slipped
mysteriously to the side of his bed, and making
sure that no one could hear, told him that the king
in a council held that morning had decided to kill
him and to imprison the other princes. Charles
heard them out, but incredulously: suspecting
treachery, he dryly replied that he had too much
confidence in his cousin's loyalty to believe such a
black calumny. Lello insisted, begging him in the
name of his dearest friends to listen; but the

1914

JOAN OF NAPLES

duke was impatient, and harshly ordered him to
depart.

The next day there was the same kindness on the
king's part, the same affection shown to the children,
the same invitation to supper. The banquet was
magnificent; the room was brilliantly lighted, and
the reflections were dazzling: vessels of gold shone
on the table, the intoxicating perfume of flowers
filled the air ; wine foamed in the goblets and flowed
from the flagons In ruby streams : conversation, ex-
cited and discursive, was heard on every side: all
faces beamed with joy.

Charles of Durazzo sat opposite the king, at a
separate table among his brothers. Little by little
his look grew fixed, his brow pensive. He was
fancying that Andre might have supped in this very
hall on the eve of his tragic end, and he thought how
all concerned in that death had either died in tor-
ment or were now languishing in prison ; the queen,
an exile and a fugitive, was begging pity from
strangers: he alone was free. The thought made
him tremble; but admiring his own cleverness in
pursuing his infernal schemes, and putting away
his sad looks, he smiled again with an expression of
indefinable pride. The madman at this moment
was scoffing at the justice of God. But Lello of
Aquila, who was waiting at the table, bent down,
whispering gloomily —

1915

CELEBRATED CRIMES

" Unhappy duke, why did you refuse to believe
me? Fly, while there is yet time."

Charles, angered by the man's obstinacy, threat-
ened that if he were such a fool as to say any more,
he would repeat every word aloud.

" I have done my duty," murmured Lello, bow-
ing his head ; " now it must happen as God
wills."

As he left of¥ speaking, the king rose, and as the
duke went up to take his leave, his face suddenly
changed, and he cried in an awful voice —

" Traitor ! At length you are in my hands, and
you shall die as you deserve; but before you are
handed over to the executioner, confess with your
own lips your deeds of treachery towards our royal
majesty: so shall we need no other witness to con-
demn you to a punishment proportioned to your
crimes. Between our two selves, Duke of Durazzo
— tell me first why, by your infamous manoeuvring,
you aided your uncle, the Cardinal of Perigord, to
hinder the coronation of my brother, and so led
him on, since he had no royal prerogative of his
own, to his miserable end? Oh, make no attempt
to deny it. Here is the letter sealed with your seal :
in secret you wrote it, but it accuses you in public.
Then why, after bringing us hither to avenge our
brother's death, — of which you beyond all doubt
were the cause, — why did you suddenly turn to the

1916

JOAN OF NAPLES

queen's party and march against our town of
Aquila, daring to raise an army against our faithful
subjects? You hoped, traitor, to make use of us
as a footstool to mount the throne withal, as soon
as you were free from every other rival. Then you
would but have awaited our departure to kill the
viceroy we should have left in our place, and so
seize the kingdom. But this time your foresight
has been at fault. There is yet another crime worse
than all the rest, a crime of high treason, which I
shall remorselessly punish. You carried off the
bride that our ancestor King Robert designed for
me, as you knew, by his will. Answer, wretch:
what excuse can you make for the rape of the Prin-
cess Marie? "

Anger had so changed Louis's voice that the last
words sounded Hke the roar of a wild beast: his
eyes glittered with a feverish light, his lips were
pale and trembling. Charles and his brothers fell
upon their knees, frozen by mortal terror, and the
unhappy duke twice tried to speak, but his teeth
were chattering so violently that he could not articu-
late a single word. At last, casting his eyes about
him and seeing his poor brothers, innocent and
ruined by his fault, he regained some sort of cour-
age, and said —

" My lord, you look upon me with a terrible
countenance that makes me tremble. But on my

1917

CELEBRATED CRIMES

knees I entreat you, have mercy on me if I have done
wrong, for God is my witness that I did not call
you to this kingdom with any criminal intention:
I have always desired, and still desire, your suprem-
acy in all the sincerity of my soul. Some treach-
erous counsellors, I am certain, have contrived to
draw down your hatred upon me. If it is true, as
you say, that I went with an armed force to Aquila,
I was compelled by Queen Joan, and I could not do
otherwise; but as soon as I heard of your arrival
at Fermo I took my troops away again. I hope for
the love of Christ I may obtain your mercy and
pardon, by reason of my former services and con-
stant loyalty. But as I see you are now angry with
me I say no more waiting for your fury to pass
over. Once again, my lord, have pity upon us,
since we are in the hands of your Majesty."

The king turned away his head, and retired
slowly, confiding the prisoners to the care of Ste-
phen Vayvoda and the Count of Zornic, who
guarded them during the night in a room adjoining
the king's chamber. The next day Louis held an-
other meeting of his council, and ordered that
Charles should have his throat cut on the very spot
where poor Andre had been hanged. He then sent
the other princes of the blood, loaded with chains,
to Hungary, where they were long kept prisoners.
Charles, quite thunderstruck by such an unexpected

1918

JOAN OF NAPLES

blow, overwhelmed by the thought of his past
crimes, trembled like a coward face to face with
death, and seemed completely crushed. Bowed
upon his knees, his face half hidden in his hands,
from time to time convulsive sobs escaped him, as
he tried to fix the thoughts that chased each other
through his mind like the shapes of a monstrous
dream. Night was in his soul, but every now and
then light flashed across the darkness, and over the
gloomy background of his despair passed gilded fig-
ures fleeing from him with smiles of mockery. In
his ears buzzed voices from the other world ; he saw
a long procession of ghosts, like the conspirators
whom Nicholas of Melazzo had pointed out in the
vaults of Castel Nuovo. But these phantoms each
held his head in his hand, and shaking it by the hair,
bespattered him with drops of blood. Some bran-
dished whips, some knives : each threatened Charles
with his instrument of torture. Pursued by the
nocturnal train, the hapless man opened his mouth
for one mighty cry, but his breath was gone, and it
died upon his lips. Then he beheld his mother
stretching out her arms from afar, and he fancied
that if he could but reach her he would be safe.
But at each step the path grew more and more nar-
row, pieces of his flesh were torn ofif by the ap-
proaching walls ; at last, breathless, naked and
bleeding, he reached his goal; but his mother glided

1919

CELEBRATED CRIMES

farther away, and it was all to begin over again.
The phantoms pursued him, grinning and scream-
ing in his ears —

" Cursed be he who slayeth his mother ! "

Charles was roused from these horrors by the
cries of his brothers, who had come to embrace him
for the last time before embarking. The duke
in a low voice asked their pardon, and then fell back
into his state of despair. The children were
dragged away, begging to be allowed to share their
brother's fate, and crying for death as an allevia-
tion of their woes. At length they were separated,
but the sound of their lamentation sounded long
in the heart of the condemned man. After a few
moments, two soldiers and two equerries came to
tell the duke that his hour had come.

Charles followed them, unresisting, to the fatal
balcony where Andre had been hanged. He was
there asked if he desired to confess, and when he
said yes, they brought a monk from the same con-
vent where the terrible scene had been enacted : he
listened to the confession of all his sins, and granted
him absolution. The duke at once rose and walked
to the place where Andre had been thrown down
for the cord to be put round his neck, and there,
kneeling again, he asked his executioners —

" Friends, in pity tell me, is there any hope for
my hfe?"

1920

JOAN OF NAPLES

And when they answered no, Charles ex-
claimed —

" Then carry out your instructions."
At these words, one of the equerries plunged his
sword into his breast, and the other cut his head off
with a knife, and his corpse was thrown over the
balcony into the garden where Andre's body had
lain for three days unburied.

1921

CHAPTER VII

THE King of Hungary, his black flag ever
borne before him, started for Naples, refus-
ing all offered honours, and rejecting the canopy-
beneath which he was to make his entry, not even
stopping to give audience to the chief citizens or to
receive the acclamations of the crowd. Armed at
all points, he made for Castel Nuovo, leavino- be-
hind him dismay and fear. His first act on enter-
ing the city was to order Doiia Cancha to be burnt,
her punishment having been deferred by reason of
her pregnancy. Like the others, she was drawn on
a cart to the square of St. Eligius, and there con-
signed to the flames. The young creature, whose
suffering had not impaired her beauty, was dressed
as for a festival, and laughing like a mad thing up
to the last moment, mocked at her executioners and
threw kisses to the crowd.

A few days later, Godfrey of Marsana, Count of
Squillace and grand admiral of the kingdom, was
arrested by the king's orders. His life was prom-
ised him on condition of his delivering up Conrad
of Catanzaro, one of his relatives, accused of con-

1922

JOAN OF NAPLES

spiring against Andre. The grand admiral com-
mitted this act of shameless treachery, and did not
shrink from sending his own son to persuade Con-
rad to come to the town. The poor wretch was
given over to the king, and tortured alive on a
wheel made with sharp knives. The sight of these
barbarities, far from calming the king's rage,
seemed to inflame it the more. Every day there
were new accusations and new sentences. The
prisons were crowded : Louis's punishments were re-
doubled in severity. A fear arose that the town,
and indeed the whole kingdom, were to be treated
as having taken part in Andre's death. Murmurs
arose against this barbarous rule, and all men's
thoughts turned towards their fugitive queen. The
Neapolitan barons had taken the oath of fidelity
with no willing hearts; and when it came to the
turn of the Counts of San Severino, they feared a
trick of some kind, and refused to appear all to-
gether before the Hungarian, but took refuge in
the town of Salerno, and sent Archbishop Roger,
their brother, to make sure of the king's intentions
beforehand. Louis received him magnificently, and
appointed him privy councillor and grand proto-
notary. Then, and not till then, did Robert of San
Severino and Roger, Count of Chiaramonte, ven-
ture into the king's presence; after doing homage,
they retired to their homes. The other barons fol-

1923

CELEBRATED CRIMES

lowed their example of caution, and hiding their
discontent under a show of respect, awaited a
favourable moment for shaking off the foreign
yoke. But the queen had encountered no obstacle
in her flight, and arrived at Nice five days later.
Her passage through Provence was like a triumph.
Her beauty, youth, and misfortunes, even certain
mysterious reports as to her adventures, all con-
tributed to arouse the interest of the Provencal
people. Games and fetes were improvised to soften
the hardship of exile for the proscribed princess;
but amid the outbursts of joy from every town,
castle, and city, Joan, always sad, lived ever in her
silent grief and glowing memories.

At the gates of Aix she found the clergy, the
nobility, and the chief magistrates, who received
her respectfully but with no signs of enthusiasm.
As the queen advanced, her astonishment increased
as she saw the coldness of the people and the sol-
emn, constrained air of the great men who escorted
her. Many anxious thoughts alarmed her, and she
even went so far as to fear some intrigue of the
King of Hungary. Scarcely had her cortege arrived
at Castle Arnaud, when the nobles, dividing into
two ranks, let the queen pass with her counsellor
Spinelli and two women; then closing up, they cut
her off from the rest of her suite. After this, each in
turn took up his station as guardian of the fortress.

1924

JOAN OF NAPLES

There was no room for doubt : the queen was
a prisoner; but the cause of the manoeuvre it was
impossible to guess. She asked the high digni-
taries, and they, protesting respectful devotion, re-
fused to explain till they had news from Avignon.
Meanwhile all honours that a queen could receive
were lavished on Joan ; but she was kept in sight
and forbidden to go out. This new trouble in-
creased her depression : she did not know what had
happened to Louis of Tarentum, and her imagin-
ation, always apt at creating disasters, instantly
suggested that she would soon be weeping for his
loss.

But Louis, always with his faithful Acciajuoli,
had after many fatiguing adventures been ship-
wrecked at the port of Pisa; thence he had taken
route for Florence, to beg men and money; but
the Florentines decided to keep an absolute neutral-
ity, and refused to receive him. The prince, losing
his last hope, was pondering gloomy plans, when
Nicholas Acciajuoli thus resolutely addressed
him : —

" My lord, it is not given to mankind to enjoy
prosperity for ever: there are misfortunes beyond
all human foresight. You were once rich and
powerful, and you are now a fugitive in disguise,
begging the help of others. You must reserve your
strength for better days. I still have a considerable

1925

CELEBRATED CRIMES

fortune, and also have relations and friends whose
wealth is at my disposal : let us try to make our
way to the queen, and at once decide what we can
do. I myself shall always defend you and obey you
as my lord and master."

The prince received these generous offers with the
utmost gratitude, and told his counsellor that he
placed his person in his hands and all that remained
of his future. Acciajuoli, not content with serving
his master as a devoted servant, persuaded his
brother Angelo, Archbishop of Florence, who was
in great favour at Clement vi's court, to join with
them in persuading the pope to interest himself in
the cause of Louis of Tarentum. So, without fur-
ther delay, the prince, his counsellor, and the good
prelate made their way to the port of Marseilles,
but learning that the queen was a prisoner at Aix,
they embarked at Acque-Morte, and went straight
to Avignon. It soon appeared that the pope had a
real affection and esteem for the character of the
Archbishop of Florence, for Louis was received
with paternal kindness at the court of Avignon,
which was far more than he had expected. When
he kneeled before the sovereign pontiff. His Holi-
ness bent affectionately towards him and helped
him to rise, saluting him by the title of king.

Two days later, another prelate, the Arch-
bishop of Aix, came into the queen's presence,

1926

JOAN OF NAPLES

and solemnly bowing before her, spoke as fol-
lows : —

" Most gracious and dearly beloved sovereign,
permit the most humble and devoted of your ser-
vants to ask pardon, in the name of your subjects,
for the painful but necessary measure they have
thought fit to take concerning your Majesty. When
you arrived on our coast, your loyal town of Aix
had learned from a trustworthy source that the
King of France was proposing to give our country
to one of his own sons, making good this loss to
you by the cession of another domain, also that the
Duke of Normandy had come to Avignon to request
this exchange in person. We were quite decided,
madam, and had made a vow to God that we would
give up everything rather than suffer the hateful
tyranny of the French. But before spilling blood
we thought it best to secure your august person as
a sacred hostage, a sacred ark which no man dared
touch but was smitten to the ground, which indeed
must keep away from our walls the scourge of war.
We have now read the formal annulment of this
hateful plan, in a brief sent by the sovereign pontiff
from Avignon; and in this brief he himself guar-
antees your good faith.

" We give you your full and entire liberty, and
henceforth we shall only endeavour to keep you
among us by prayers and protestations. Go then,

1927

CELEBRATED CRIMES

madam, if that is your pleasure, but before you
leave these lands, which will be plunged into mourn-
ing by your withdrawal, leave with us some hope
that you forgive the apparent violence to which we
have subjected you, only in the fear that we might
lose you; and remember that on the day when you
cease to be our queen you sign the death-warrant
of all your subjects."

Joan reassured the archbishop and the deputation
from her good town of Aix with a melancholy
smile, and promised that she would always cherish
the memory of their affection. For this time she
could not be deceived as to the real sentiments of
the nobles and people ; and a fidelity so uncommon,
revealed with sincere tears, touched her heart and
made her reflect bitterly upon her past. But a
league's distance from Avignon a magnificent tri-
umphal reception awaited her. Louis of Tarentum
and all the cardinals present at the court had come
out to meet her. Pages in dazzling dress carried
above Joan's head a canopy of scarlet velvet, orna-
mented with fleur-de-lys in gold and plumes. Hand-
some youths and lovely girls, their heads crowned
with flowers, went before her singing her praise.'
The streets were bordered with a living hedge of
people, the houses were decked out, the bells rang
a triple peal, as at the great Church festivals.
Clement vi first received the queen at the castle of

1928

JOAN OF NAPLES

Avignon with all the pomp he knew so well how to
employ on solemn occasions, then she was lodged in
the palace of Cardinal Napoleon of the Orsini, who
on his return from the Conclave at Perugia had
built this regal dwelling at Villeneuve, inhabited
later by the popes.

No words could give an idea of the strangely
disturbed condition of Avignon at this period.
Since Clement v had transported the seat of the
papacy to Provence, there had sprung up, in this
rival to Rome, squares, churches, cardinals' palaces,
of unparalleled splendour. All the business of na-
tions and kings was transacted at the castle of
Avignon. Ambassadors from every court, mer-
chants of every nation, adventurers of all kinds,
Italians, Spaniards, Hungarians, Arabs, Jews, sol-
diers, Bohemians, jesters, poets, monks, courtesans,
swarmed and clustered here, and hustled one an-
other in the streets. There was confusion of
tongues, customs, and costumes, an inextricable
mixture of splendour and rags, riches and misery,
debasement and grandeur. The austere poets of the
Middle Ages stigmatised the accursed city in their
WTitings under the name of the New Babylon.

There is one curious monument of Joan's sojourn
at Avignon and the exercise of her authority as
sovereign. She was indignant at the effrontery of
the women of the town, who elbowed everybody

1929

CELEBRATED CRIMES

shamelessly in the streets, and published a notable
edict, the first of its kind, which has since served as
a model in like cases, to compel all unfortunate
women who trafficked in their honour to live shut
up together in a house, that was bound to be open
every day in the year except the last three days of
Holy Week, the entrance to be barred to Jews at all
times. An abbess, chosen once a year, had the su-
preme control over this strange convent. Rules
were established for the maintenance of order, and
severe penalties inflicted for any infringement of
discipline. The lawyers of the period gained a
great reputation by this salutary institution ; the fair
ladies of Avignon were eager in their defence of
the queen in spite of the calumnious reports that
strove to tarnish her reputation: with one voice
the wisdom of Andre's widow was extolled. The
concert of praises was disturbed, however, by mur-
murs from the recluses themselves, who, in their
own brutal language, declared that Joan of Naples
was impeding their commerce so as to get a mon-
opoly for herself.

Meanwhile Marie of Durazzo had joined her
sister. After her husband's death she had found-
means to take refuge in the convent of Santa Croce
with her two little daughters; and while Louis of
Hungary was busy burning his victims, the unhappy
Marie had contrived to make her escape in the frock

1930

JOAN OF NxVPLES

of an old monk, and as by a miracle to get on board
a ship that was setting sail for Provence. She re-
lated to her sister the frightful details of the king's
cruelty. And soon a new proof of his implacable
hatred confirmed the tales of the poor princess:
Louis's ambassadors appeared at the court of
Avignon to demand formally the queen's con-
demnation.

It was a great day when Joan of Naples pleaded
her own cause before the pope, in the presence of
all the cardinals then at Avignon, all the ambas-
sadors of foreign powers, and all the eminent per-
sons come from every quarter of Europe to be
present at this trial, unique in the annals of history.
We must imagine a vast enclosure, in whose midst
upon a raised throne, as president of the august
tribunal, sat God's vicar on earth, absolute and
supreme judge, emblem of temporal and spiritual
power, of authority human and divine. To right
and left of the sovereign pontiff, the cardinals in
their red robes sat in chairs set round in a circle,
and behind these princes of the Sacred College
stretched rows of bishops extending to the end of
the hall, with vicars, canons, deacons, archdeacons,
and the whole immense hierarchy of the Church.
Facing the pontifical throne was a platform re-
served for the Queen of Naples and her suite. At
the pope's feet stood the ambassadors from the King

1931

CELEBRATED CRIMES

of Hungary, who played the part of accusers with-
out speaking a word, the circumstances of the crime
and all the proofs having been discussed before-
hand by a committee appointed for the purpose. The
rest of the hall was filled by a brilliant crowd of
high dignitaries, illustrious captains, and noble
envoys, all vying with one another in proud dis-
play. Everyone ceased to breathe, all eyes were
fixed on the dais whence Joan was to speak her own
defence. A movement of uneasy curiosity made
this compact mass of humanity surge towards the
centre, the cardinals above raised like proud pea-
cocks over a golden harvest-field shaken in the
breeze.

The queen appeared, hand in hand with her
uncle, the old Cardinal of Perigord, and her aunt,
the Countess Agnes. Her gait was so modest and
proud, her countenance so melancholy and pure, her
looks so open and confident, that even before she
spoke every heart was hers. Joan was now twenty
years of age; her magnificent beauty was fully
developed, but an extreme pallor concealed the bril-
liance of her transparent satin skin, and her hollow
cheek told the tale of expiation and suffering;
Among the spectators who looked on most eagerly
there was a certain young man with strongly
marked features, glowing eyes, and brown hair,
whom we shall meet again later on in our narra-

1932

JOAN OF NAPLES

tive; but we will not divert our readers' attention,
but only tell them that his name was James of Ara-
gon, that he was Prince of Majorca, and would
have been ready to shed every drop of his blood
only to check one single tear that hung on Joan's
eyelids. The queen spoke in an agitated, trembling
voice, stopping from time to time to dry her moist
and shining eyes, or to breathe one of those deep
sighs that go straight to the heart. She told the
tale of her husband's death painfully and vividly,
painted truthfully the mad terror that had seized
upon her and struck her down at that frightful
time, raised her hands to her brow with the gesture
of despair, as though she would wrest the madness
from her brain — and a shudder of pity and awe
passed through the assembled crowd. It is a fact
that at this moment, if her words were false, her
anguish was both sincere and terrible. An angel
soiled by crime, she lied like Satan himself, but like
him too she suffered all the agony of remorse and
pride. Thus, when at the end of her speech she
burst into tears and implored help and protection
against the usurper of her kingdom, a cry of general
assent drowned her closins: words, several hands
flew to their sword-hilts, and the Hungarian am-
bassadors retired covered with shame and con-
fusion.

That same evening the sentence, to the great joy

1933

CELEBRATED CRIMES

of all, was proclaimed, that Joan was innocent and
acquitted of all concern in the assassination of her
husband. But as her conduct after the event and
the indifference she had shown about pursuing the
authors of the crime admitted of no valid excuse,
the pope declared that there were plain traces of
magic, and that the wrong-doing attributed to Joan
was the result of some baneful charm cast upon
her, which she could by no possible means resist.
At the same time, His Holiness confirmed her mar-
riage with Louis of Tarentum, and bestowed on
him the order of the Rose of Gold and the title of
King of Sicily and Jerusalem. Joan, it is true, had
on the eve of her acquittal sold the town of Avignon
to the pope for the sum of 80,000 florins.

While the queen was pleading her cause at the
court of Clement vi, a dreadful epidemic, called the
Black Plague — the same that Boccaccio has de-
scribed so wonderfully — was ravaging the kingdom
of Naples, and indeed the whole of Italy. Ac-
cording to the calculation of Matteo Villani, Flor-
ence lost three-fifths of her population, Bologna
two-thirds, and nearly all Europe was reduced in
some such frightful proportion. The Neapolitans
were already weary of the cruelties and greed of
the Hungarians, they were only awaiting some
opportunity to revolt against the stranger's oppres-
sion, and to recall their lawful sovereign, whom,

1934

JOAN OF NAPLES

for all her ill deeds, they had never ceased to love.
The attraction of youth and beauty was deeply
felt by this pleasure-loving people. Scarcely had
the pestilence thrown confusion into the army and
town, when loud cursing arose against the tyrant
and his executioners. Louis of Hungary, suddenly
threatened by the wrath of Heaven and the people's
vengeance, w'as terrified both by the plague and
by the riots, and disappeared in the middle of the
night. Leaving the government of Naples in the
hands of Conrad Lupo, one of his captains, he em-
barked hastily at Berletta, and left the kingdom in
very much the same way as Louis of Tarentum,
fleeing from him, had left it a few months before.
This news arrived at Avignon just when the pope
was about to send the queen his bull of absolution.
It was at once decided to take away the kingdom
from Louis's viceroy. Nicholas Acciajuoli left for
Naples with the marvellous bull that was to prove
to all men the innocence of the queen, to banish
all scruples and stir up a new enthusiasm. The
counsellor first v/ent to the castle of Melzi, com-
manded by his son Lorenzo : this was the only fort-
ress that had always held out. The father and son
embraced with the honourable pride that near rela-
tives may justly feel when they meet after they
have united in the performance of a heroic duty.
From the governor of Melzi Louis of Tarentum's

1935

CELEBRATED CRIMES

counsellor learned that all men were wearied of the
arrogance and vexatious conduct of the queen's ene-
mies, and that a conspiracy was in train, started in
the University of Naples, but with vast ramifica-
tions all over the kingdom, and moreover that there
was dissension in the enemy's army. The inde-
fatigable counsellor went from Apulia to Naples,
traversing towns and villages, collecting men every-
where, proclaiming loudly the acquittal of the queen
and her marriage with Louis of Tarentum, also
that the pope was offering indulgences to such as
would receive with joy their lawful sovereigns.
Then seeing that the people shouted as he went by,
" Long live Joan! Death to the Hungarians! " he
returned and told his sovereigns in what frame of
mind he had left their subjects.

Joan borrowed money wherever she could, armed
galleys, and left Marseilles with her husband, her
sister, and two faithful advisers, Acciajuoli and
Spinelli, on the loth of September 1348. The king
and queen not being able to enter at the harbour,
which was in the enemy's power, disembarked at
Santa Maria del Carmine, near the river Sebeto,
amid the frenzied applause of an immense crowd-,
and accompanied by all the Neapolitan nobles.
They made their way to the palace of Messire
Ajutorio, near Porta Capuana, the Hungarians hav-
ing fortified themselves in all the castles ; but Accia-

1936

JOAN OF NAPLES

juoli, at the head of the queen's partisans, block-
aded the fortresses so ably that half of the enemy
were obliged to surrender, and the other half took
to flight and were scattered about the interior of the
kingdom. We shall now follow Louis of Tarentum
in his arduous adventures in Apulia, the Calabrias,
and the Abruzzi, where he recovered one by one the
fortresses that the Hungarians had taken. By
dint of unexampled valour and patience, he at last
mastered nearly all the more considerable places,
when suddenly everything changed, and fortune
turned her back upon him for the second time. A
German captain called Warner, who had deserted
the Hungarian army to sell himself to the queen, had
again played the traitor and sold himself once more,
allowed himself to be surprised at Corneto by Con-
rad Lupo, the King of Hungary's vicar-general,
and openly joined him, taking along with him a
great party of the adventurers who fought under
his orders. This unexpected defection forced Louis
of Tarentum to retire to Naples. The King of
Hungary soon learning that the troops had rallied
round his banner, and only awaited his return to
march upon the capital, disembarked with a strong
reinforcement of cavalry at the port of Manfre-
donia, and taking Trani, Canosa, and Salerno, went
forward to lay siege to Aversa.

The news fell like a thunder-clap on Joan and her

1937

CELEBRATED CRIMES

husband. The Hung'arian army consisted of lO,-
ooo horse and more than 7000 infnntry, and Aversa
had only 500 soldiers under Giacomo Pignatelli.
In spite of the immense disproportion of the num-
bers, the Neapolitan general vigorously repelled the
attack; and the King of Hungary, fighting in the
front, was wounded in his foot by an arrow. Then
Louis, seeing that it would be difficult to take the
place by storm, determined to starve them out.
For three months the besieged performed prodigies
of valour, and further assistance was impossible.
Their capitulation was expected at any moment,
unless indeed they decided to perish every man.
Renaud des Baux, who was to come from Mar-
seilles with a squadron of ten ships to defend the
ports of the capital and secure the queen's flight,
should the Hungarian army get possession of Na-
ples, had been delayed by adverse winds and obliged
to stop on the way. All things seemed to conspire
in favour of the enemy. Louis of Tarentum, whose
generous soul refused to shed the blood of his brave
men in an unequal and desperate struggle, nobly
sacrificed himself, and made an offer to the King
of Hungary to settle their quarrel in single combat.
We append the authentic letters that passed between
Joan's husband and Andre's brother.

" Illustrious King of Hungary, who has come to
invade our kingdom, we, by the grace of God King

1938

JOAN OF NAPLES

of Jerusalem and Sicily, invite you to single com-
bat. We know that you are in no wise disturbed
by the death of your lancers or the other pagans in
your suite, no more indeed than if they were dogs;
but we, fearing harm to our own soldiers and men-
at-arms, desire to fight with you personally, to put
an end to the present war and restore peace to our
kingdom. He who survives shall be king. And
therefore, to ensure that this duel shall take place,
we definitely propose as a site either Paris, in the
presence of the King of France, or one of the towns
of Perugia, Avignon, or Naples. Choose one of
these four places, and send us your reply."

The King of Hungary first consulted with his
council, and then replied : —

" Great King, we have read and considered your
letter sent to us by the bearer of these presents,
and by your invitation to a duel we are most su-
premely pleased; but we do not approve of any of
the places you propose, since they are all suspect,
and for several reasons. The King of France is
your maternal grandfather, and although we are
also connected by blood with him, the relationship
is not so near. The town of Avignon, although
nominally belonging to the sovereign pontiff, is the
capital of Provence, and has always been subject
to your rule. Neither have we any more confidence
in Perugia, for that town is devoted to your cause.

1939

CELEBRATED CRIMES

As to the city of Naples, there is no need to say
that we refuse that rendezvous, since it is in revolt
against us and you are there as king. But if you
wish to fight with us, let it be in the presence of the
Emperor of Germany, who is lord supreme, or the
King of England, who is our common friend, or the
Patriarch of Aquilea, a good Catholic. If you do
not approve of any of the places we propose, we
shall soon be near you with our army, and so remove
all difficulties and delays. Then you can come forth,
and our duel can take place in the presence of both
armies."

After the interchange of these two letters, Louis
of Tarentum proposed nothing further. The gar-
rison at Aversa had capitulated after a heroic resist-
ance, and it was known only too well that if the
King of Hungary could get so far as the walls of
Naples, he would not have to endanger his life in
order to seize that city. Happily the Provengal gal-
leys had reached port at last. The king and the
queen had only just time to embark and take refuge
at Gaeta. The Hungarian army arrived at Naples.
The town was on the point of yielding, and had
sent messengers to the king humbly demanding
peace; but the speeches of the Hungarians showed
such insolence that the people, irritated past endur-
ance, took up arms, and resolved to defend their
household gods with all the energy of despair.

1940

CHAPTER VIII

WHILE the Neapolitans were holding out
against their enemy at the Porta Capuana,
a strange scene was being enacted at the other side
of the town, a scene that shows us in lively colours
the violence and treachery of this barbarous age.
The widow of Charles of Durazzo was shut up in
the castle of Ovo, and awaiting in feverish anxiety
the arrival of the ship that was to take her to the
queen. The poor Princess Marie, pressing her
weeping children to her heart, pale, with dishevelled
locks, fixed eyes, and drawn lips, was listening for
every sound, distracted between hope and fear.
Suddenly steps resounded along the corridor, a
friendly voice was heard, Marie fell upon her knees
with a cry of joy: her liberator had come.

Renaud des Baux, admiral of the Provengal
squadron, respectfully advanced, followed by his
eldest son Robert and his chaplain.

" God, I thank Thee ! " exclaimed Marie, rising
to her feet; " we are saved."

" One moment, madam," said Renaud, stopping
her : " you are indeed saved, but upon one con-
dition."

1941

CELEBRATED CRIMES

" A condition ? " murmured the princess in sur-
prise.

" Listen, madam. The King of Hungary, the
avenger of Andre's murderers, the slayer of your
husband, is at the gates of Naples; the people and
soldiers will succumb, as soon as their last gallant
effort is spent: the army of the conqueror is about
to spread desolation and death throughout the city
by fire and the sword. This time the Hungarian
butcher will spare no victims : he will kill the mother
before her children's eyes, the children in their
mother's arms. The drawbridge of this castle is
up and there are none on guard ; every man who can
wield a sword is now at the other end of the town.
Woe to you, Marie of Durazzo, if the King of
Hungary shall remember that you preferred his
rival to him ! "

" But have you not come here to save me ? " cried
Marie in a voice of anguish. " Joan, my sister, did
she not command you to take me to her ? "

" Your sister is no longer in the position to give
orders," replied Renaud, with a disdainful smile.
" She had nothingf for me but thanks because I saved
her life, and her husband's too, when he fled like a
coward before the man whom he had dared to chal-
lenge to a duel."

Marie looked fixedly at the admiral, to assure
herself that it was really he who thus arrogantly

1942

JOAN OF NAPLES

talked about his masters. But she was terrified at
his imperturbable expression, and said gently —

" As I owe my life and my children's lives solely
to your generosity, I am grateful to you beyond all
measure. But we must hurry, my lord : every mo-
ment I fancy I hear cries of vengeance, and you
would not leave me now a prey to my brutal
enemy? "

"God forbid, madam; I will save you at the risk
of my Hfe; but I have said already, I impose a
condition."

" What is it ? " said Marie, with forced calm.

" That you marry my son on the instant, in the
presence of our reverend chaplain."

" Rash man ! " cried Marie, recoiling, her face
scarlet with indignation and shame ; " you dare to
speak thus to the sister of your legitimate sovereign?
Give thanks to God that I will pardon an insult
offered, as I know, in a moment of madness; try
by your devotion to make me forget what you have
said."

The count, without one word, signed to his son
and a priest to follow, and prepared to depart. As
he crossed the threshold Marie ran to him, and
clasping her hands, prayed him in God's name
never to forsake her. Renaud stopped.

" I might easily take my revenge," he said, " for
your affront when you refuse my son in your pride;

1943

CELEBRATED CRIMES

but that business I leave to Louis of Hungary, who
will acquit himself, no doubt, with credit."

" Have mercy on my poor daughters ! " cried
the princess ; " mercy at least for my poor babes,
if my own tears cannot move you."

" If you loved your children," said the admiral,
frowning, " you would have done your duty at
once."

" But I do not love your son ! " cried Marie, proud
but trembling. " O God, must a wretched woman's
heart be thus trampled? You, father, a minister
of truth and justice, tell this man that God must
uot be called on to witness an oath dragged from
the weak and helpless ! "

She turned to the admiral's son, and added, sob-
bing—

" You are young, perhaps you have loved : one
day no doubt you will love. I appeal to your loy-
alty as a young man, to your courtesy as a knight,
to all your noblest impulses ; join me, and turn your
father away from his fatal project. You have
never seen me before : you do not know but that in
my secret heart I love another. Your pride should
be revolted at the sight of an unhappy woman cast-
ing herself at your feet and imploring your favour
and protection. One word from you, Robert, and
I shall bless you every moment of my life: the
memory of you will be graven in my heart like the

1944

JOAN OF NAPLES

memory of a guardian angel, and my children shall
name you nightly in their prayers, asking God to
grant your wishes. Oh, say, will you not save me?
Who knows, later on I may love you — with real
love."

" I must obey my father," Robert replied, never
lifting his eyes to the lovely suppliant.

The priest was silent. Two minutes passed, and
these four persons, each absorbed in his own
thoughts, stood motionless as statues carved at the
four corners of a tomb. Marie was thrice tempted
to throw herself into the sea. But a confused dis-
tant sound suddenly struck upon her ears : little by
little it drew nearer, voices were more distinctly
heard; women in the street were uttering cries of
distress —

" Fly, fly ! God has forsaken us ; the Hungarians
are in the town ! "

The tears of Marie's children were the answer
to these cries ; and little Margaret, raising her hands
to her mother, expressed her fear in speech that
was far beyond her years. Renaud, without one
look at this touching picture, drew his son towards
the door.

" Stay," said the princess, extending her hand
with a solemn gesture : " as God sends no other aid
to my children, it is His will that the sacrifice be
accomplished."

1945 Dumas— Vol. C— F

CELEBRATED CRIMES

She fell on her knees before the priest, bending
her head Hke a victim who offers her neck to the
executioner. Robert des Baux took his place be-
side her, and the priest pronounced the formula that
united them for ever, consecrating the infamous
deed by a sacrilegious blessing.

"All is over!" murmured Marie of Durazzo,
looking tearfully on her little daughters.

" No, all is not yet over," said the admiral harshly,
pushing her towards another room ; " before we
leave, the marriage must be consummated."

" O just God! " cried the princess, in a voice torn
with anguish, and she fell swooning to the floor.

Renaud des Baux directed his ships towards
Marseilles, where he hoped to get his son crowned
Count of Provence, thanks to his strange marriage
with Marie of Durazzo. But this cowardly act of
treason was not to go unpunished. The wind rose
with fury, and drove him towards Gaeta, where the
queen and her husband had just arrived. Renaud
bade his sailors keep in the open, threatening to
throw any man into the sea who dared to disobey
him. The crew at first murmured; soon cries of
mutiny rose on every side. The admiral, seeing
he was lost, passed from threats to prayers. But
the princess, who had recovered her senses at the
first thunder-clap, dragged herself up to the bridge
and screamed for help.

1946

JOAN OF NAPLES

" Come to me, Louis ! Come, my barons ! Death
to the cowardly wretches who have outraged my
honour!"

Louis of Tarentum jumped into a boat, followed
by some ten of his bravest men, and, rowing rapidly,
reached the ship. Then Marie told him her story
in a word, and he turned upon the admiral a light-
ning glance, as though defying him to make any
defence.

" Wretch ! " cried the king, transfixing the traitor
with his sword.

Then he had the son loaded with chains, and also
the unworthy priest who had served as accomplice
to the admiral, who now expiated his odious crime
by death. He took the princess and her children in
his boat, and re-entered the harbour.

The Hungarians, however, forcing one of the
gates of Naples, marched triumphant to Castel
Nuovo. But as they were crossing the Piazza delle
Correggie, the Neapolitans perceived that the horses
were so weak and the men so reduced by all they
had undergone during the siege of Aversa that a
mere puff of wind would dispense this phantom-like
army. Changing from a state of panic to real
daring, the people rushed upon their conquerors,
and drove them outside the walls by which they had
just entered. The sudden violent reaction broke
the pride of the King of Hungary, and made him

1947

CELEBRATED CRIMES

more tractable when Clement vi decided that he
ought at last to interfere. A truce was concluded
first from the month of February 1350 to the begin-
ning of April 135 1, and the next year this was con-
verted into a real peace, Joan paying to the King of
Hungary the sum of 300,000 florins for the ex-
penses of the war.

After the Hungarians had gone, the pope sent
a legate to crown Joan and Louis of Tarentum, and
the 25th of May, the day of Pentecost, was chosen
for the ceremony. All contemporary historians
speak enthusiastically of this magnificent fete. Its
details have been immortalised by Giotto in the
frescoes of the church which from this day bore
the name of L'Incoronata. A general amnesty was
declared for all who had taken part in the late wars
on either side, and the king and queen were greeted
with shouts of joy as they solemnly paraded beneath
the canopy, with all the barons of the kingdom in
their train.

But the day's joy was impaired by an accident
which to a superstitious people seemed of evil au-
gury. Louis of Tarentum, riding a richly capar-
isoncfd horse, had just passed the Porta Petruccia,
when some ladies looking out from a high window
threw such a quantity of flowers at the king that
his frightened steed reared and broke his rein.
Louis could not hold him, so jumped lightly to the

1948

JOAN OF NAPLES

ground; but the crown fell at his feet and was
broken into three pieces. On that very day the only
daughter of Joan and Louis died.

But the king not wishing to sadden the brilliant
ceremony with show of mourning, kept up the
jousts and tournaments for three days, and in mem-
ory of his coronation instituted the order of Cheva-
liers du Noeiid. But from that day begun with an
omen so sad, his life was nothing but a series of
disillusions. After sustaining w^ars in Sicily and
Apulia, and quelling the insurrection of Louis of
Durazzo, who ended his days in the castle of Ovo,
Louis of Tarentum, worn out by a life of pleasure,
his health undermined by slow disease, overwhelmed
with domestic trouble, succumbed to an acute fever
on the 5th of June 1362, at the age of forty-two.
His body had not been laid in its royal tomb at
Saint Domenico before several aspirants appeared
to the hand of the queen.

One was the Prince of Majorca, the handsome
youth we have already spoken of: he bore her off
triumphant over all rivals, including the son of the
King of France. James of Aragon had one of those
faces of melancholy sweetness which no woman can
resist. Great troubles nobly borne had thrown as
it were a funereal veil over his youthful days:
more than thirteen years he had spent shut in an
iron cage; when by the aid of a false key he had

1949

CELEBRATED CRIMES

escaped from his dreadful prison, he wandered from
one court to another seeking aid ; it is even said that
he was reduced to the lowest degree of poverty
and forced to beg his bread. The young stranger's
beauty and his adventures combined had impressed
both Joan and Marie at the court of Avignon.
Marie especially had conceived a violent passion
for him, all the more so for the efforts she made
to conceal it in her own bosom. Ever since James
of Aragon came to Naples, the unhappy princess,
married with a dagger at her throat, had desired
to purchase her liberty at the expense of crime. Fol-
lowed by four armed men, she entered the prison
where Robert des Baux was still suffering for a
fault more his father's than his own. Marie stood
before the prisoner, her arms crossed, her cheeks
livid, her lips trembling. It was a terrible inter-
view. This time it was she who threatened, the man
who entreated pardon. Marie was deaf to his
prayers, and the head of the luckless man fell
bleeding at her feet, and her men threw the body
into the sea. But God never allows a murder to
go unpunished: James preferred the queen to her
sister, and the widow of Charles of Durazzo gained
nothing by her crime but the contempt of the man
she loved, and a bitter remorse which brought her
while yet young to the tomb.

Joan was married in turn to James of Aragon,

1950

JOAN OF NAPLES

son of the King of Majorca, and to Otho of Bruns-
wick, of the imperial family of Saxony. We will
pass rapidly over these years, and come to the
denouement of this history of crime and expiation.
James, parted from his wife, continued his stormy
career, after a long contest in Spain with Peter the
Cruel, who had usurped his kingdom: about the
end of the year 1375 he died near Navarre. Otho
also could not escape the Divine vengeance which
hung over the court of Naples, but to the end he
valiantly shared the queen's fortunes. Joan, since
she had no lawful heir, adopted her nephew, Charles
de la Paix (so called after the peace of Trevisa).
He was the son of Louis Duras, who after rebelling
against Louis of Tarentum, had died miserably in
the castle of Ovo. The child would have shared
his father's fate had not Joan interceded to spare his
life, loaded him with kindness, and married him to
Margaret, the daughter of her sister Marie and her
cousin Charles, who was put to death by the King
of Hungary,

Serious differences arose between the queen and
one of her former subjects, Bartolommeo Prigiani,
who had become pope under the name of Urban vi.
Annoyed by the queen's opposition, the pope one
day angrily said he would shut her up in a convent.
Joan, to avenge the insult, openly favoured Clement
VII, the anti-pope, and offered him a home in her

1951

CELEBRATED CRIMES

own castle, when, pursued by Pope Urban's army,
he had taken refuge at Fondi. But the people re-
belled against Clement, and killed the Archbishop
of Naples, who had helped to elect him : they broke
the cross that was carried in procession before the
anti-pope, and hardly allowed him time to make his
escape on shipboard to Provence. Urban declared
that Joan was now dethroned, and released her sub-
jects from their oath of fidelity to her, bestowing
the crown of Sicily and Jerusalem upon Charles
de la Paix, who marched on Naples with 8000 Hun-
garians. Joan, who could not believe in such base
ingratitude, sent out his wife Margaret to meet her
adopted son, though she might have kept her as a,
hostage, and his two children, Ladislaus and Joan,
who became later the second queen of that name.
But the victorious army soon arrived at the gates
of Naples, and Charles blockaded the queen in her
castle, forgetting in his ingratitude that she had
saved his life and loved him like a mother.

Joan during the siege endured all the worst
fatigues of war that any soldier has to bear. She
saw her faithful friends fall around her wasted by
hunger or decimated by sickness. When all food
was exhausted, dead and decomposed bodies were
thrown into the castle that they might pollute the
air she breathed. Otho with his troops was kept at
Aversa; Louis of Anjou, the brother of the King

1952

JOAN OF NAPLES

of France, whom she had named as her successor
when she disinherited her nephew, never appeared
to help her, and the Provengal ships from Clement
VII were not due to arrive until all hope must be
over. Joan asked for a truce of five days, prom-
ising that, if Otho had not come to relieve her in
that time, she would surrender the fortress.

On the fifth day Otho's army appeared on the side
of Piedigrotta. The fight was sharp on both sides,
and Joan from the top of a tower could follow with
her eyes the cloud of dust raised by her husband's
horse in the thickest of the battle. The victory was
long uncertain: at length the prince made so bold
an onset upon the royal standard, in his eagerness
to meet his enemy hand to hand, that he plunged
into the very middle of the army, and found him-
self pressed on every side. Covered with blood and
sweat, his sword broken in his hand, he was forced
to surrender. An hour later Charles was writing to
his uncle, the King of Hungary, that Joan had fallen
into his power, and he only awaited His Majesty's
orders to decide her fate.

It was a fine May morning: the queen was under
guard in the castle of Aversa : Otho had obtained his
liberty on condition of his quitting Naples, and
Louis of Anjou had at last got together an army
of 50,000 men and was marching in hot haste to
the conquest of the kingdom. None of this news

1953

CELEBRATED CRIMES

had reached the ears of Joan, who for some days
had hved in complete isolation. The spring lav-
ished all her glory on these enchanted plains, which
have earned the name of the blessed and happy coun-
try, campagna felice. The orange trees were cov-
ered with sweet white blossoms, the cherries laden
with ruby fruit, the olives with young emerald
leaves, the pomegranate feathery with red bells ; the
wild mulberry, the evergreen laurel, all the strong
budding vegetation, needing no help from man to
flourish in this spot privileged by Nature, made one
great garden, here and there interrupted by little
hidden runlets. It was a forgotten Eden in this
corner of the world. Joan at her window was
breathing in the perfumes of spring, and her eyes
misty with tears rested on a bed of flowery verdure:
a light breeze, keen and balmy, blew upon her burn-
ing brow and offered a grateful coolness to her damp
and fevered cheeks. Distant melodious voices, re-
frains of well-known songs, were all that disturbed
the silence of the poor little room, the solitary nest
where a life was passing away in tears and repent-
ance, a life the most brilliant and eventful of a cen-
tury of splendour and unrest.

The queen was slowly reviewing in her mind all
her life since she ceased to be a child — fifty years of
disillusionment and suffering. She thought first of
her happy, peaceful childhood, her grandfather's

1954

JOAN OF NAPLES

blind affection, the pure joys of her days of inno-
cence, the exciting games with her Httle sister and
tall cousins. Then she shuddered at the earliest
thought of marriage, the constraint, the loss of lib-
erty, the bitter regrets ; she remembered with horror
the deceitful words murmured in her ear, designed
to sow the seeds of corruption and vice that were to
poison her whole life. Then came the burning mem-
ories of her first love, the treachery and desertion
of Robert of Cabane, the moments of madness
passed like a dream in the arms of Bertrand of Ar-
tois — the whole drama up to its tragic denouement
showed as in letters of fire on the dark background
of her sombre thoughts. Then arose cries of an-
guish in her soul, even as on that terrible fatal night
she heard the voice of Andre asking mercy from
his murderers. A long deadly silence followed his
awful struggle, and the queen saw before her eyes
the carts of infamy and the torture of her accom-
plices. All the rest of this vision was persecution,
flight, exile, remorse, punishments from God and
curses from the world. Around her was a frightful
solitude : husbands, lovers, kindred, friends, all were
dead ; all she had loved or hated in the world were
now no more; her joy, pain, desire, and hope had
vanished for ever. The poor queen, unable to free
herself from these visions of woe, violently tore
herself away from the awful reverie, and kneeling

1955

JOAN OF NAPLES

at ^ prie-dieu, prayed with fervour. She was still
beautiful, in spite of her extreme pallor; the noble
lines of her face kept their pure oval; the fire of
repentance in her great black eyes lit them up with
superhuman brilliance, and the hope of pardon
played in a heavenly smile upon her lips.

Suddenly the door of the room where Joan was
so earnestly praying opened with a dull sound : two
Hungarian barons in armour entered and signed
to the queen to follow them. Joan arose silently
and obeyed; but a cry of pain went up from her
heart when she recognised the place where both
Andre and Charles of Durazzo had died a violent
death. But she collected her forces, and asked
calmly why she was brought hither. For all answer,
one of the men showed her a cord of silk and
gold . . .

" May the will of a just God be done ! " cried
Joan, and fell upon her knees. Some minutes later
she had ceased to suffer.

This was the third corpse that was thrown over
the balcony at Aversa.

1956

THE MAN IN THE IRON MASK

THE MAN IN THE IRON MASK

FOR nearly one hundred years this curious
problem has exercised the imagination of
writers of fiction and of drama, and the patience
of the learned in history. No subject is more
obscure and elusive, and none more attractive to
the general mind. It is a legend to the meaning of
which none can find the key and yet in which every-
one believes. Involuntarily we feel pity at the
thought of that long captivity surrounded by so
many extraordinary precautions, and when we
dwell on the mystery which enveloped the captive,
that pity is not only deepened but a kind of terror
takes possession of us. It is very likely that if the
name of the hero of this gloomy tale had been
known at the time, he would now be forgotten. To
give him a name would be to relegate him at once
to the ranks of those commonplace offenders who
quickly exhaust our interest and our tears. But
this being, cut off from the world without leaving
any discoverable trace, and whose disappearance
apparently caused no void — this captive, distin-
guished among captives by the unexampled nature

1959

CELEBRATED CRIMES

of his punishment, a prison within a prison, as if
the walls of a mere cell were not narrow enough,
has come to typify for us the sum of all the human
misery and suffering ever inflicted by unjust
tyranny.

Who was the Man in the Mask? Was he rapt
away into this silent seclusion from the luxury of a
court, from the intrigues of diplomacy, from the
scaffold of a traitor, from the clash of battle?
What did he leave behind? Love, glory, or a
throne? What did he regret when hope had fled?
Did he pour forth imprecations and curses on his
tortures and blaspheme against high Heaven, or did
he with a sigh possess his soul in patience?

The blows of fortune are differently received
according to the different characters of those on
whom they fall; and each one of us who in imagi-
nation threads the subterranean passages leading to
the cells of Pignerol and Exilles, and incarcerates
himself in the lies Sainte-Marguerite and in the
Bastille, the successive scenes of that long-pro-
tracted agony will give the prisoner a form shaped
by his own fancy and a grief proportioned to his
own power of suffering. How we long to pierce
the thoughts and feel the heart-beats and watch the
trickling tears behind that machine-like exterior,
that impassible mask! Our imagination is power-
fully excited by the dumbness of that fate borne by

i960

THE MAN IN THE IRON MASK

one whose words never reached the outward air,
whose thoughts could never be read on the hidden
features ; by the isolation of forty years secured by
twofold barriers of stone and iron, and she clothes
the object of her contemplation in majestic splen-
dour, connects the mystery which enveloped his
existence with mighty interests, and persists in
regarding the prisoner as sacrificed for the preser-
vation of some dynastic secret involving the peace
of the world and the stability of a throne.

And when we calmly reflect on the whole case,
do we feel that our first impulsively adopted opinion
was wrong? Do we regard our belief as a poetical
illusion? I do not think so; on the contrary, it
seems to me that our good sense approves our
fancy's flight. For what can be more natural than
the conviction that the secret of the name, age, and
features of the captive, which was so perse veringly
kept through long years at the cost of so much
care, was of vital importance to the Government?
No ordinary human passion, such as anger, hate,
or vengeance, has so dogged and enduring a char-
acter; we feel that the measures taken were not the
expression of a love of cruelty, for even supposing
that Louis xiv were the most cruel of princes,
would he not have chosen one of the thousand
methods of torture ready to his hand before invent-
ing a new and strange one? Moreover, why did

1961

CELEBRATED CRIMES

he voluntarily burden himself with the obligation
of surrounding a prisoner with such numberless
precautions and such sleepless vigilance? Must
he not have feared that in spite of it all the walls
behind which he concealed the dread mystery
would one day let in the light ? Was it not through
his entire reign a source of unceasing anxiety?
And yet he respected the life of the captive whom
it was so difficult to hide, and the discovery of
whose identity would have been so dangerous. It
would have been so easy to bury the secret in an
obscure grave, and yet the order was never given.
Was this an expression of hate, anger, or any
other passion? Certainly not; the conclusion we
must come to in regard to the conduct of the king
is that all the measures he took against the prisoner
were dictated by purely political motives; that his
conscience, while allowing him to do everything
necessary to guard the secret, did not permit him
to take the further step of putting an end to the
days of an unfortunate man, who in all probability
was guilty of no crime.

Courtiers are seldom obsequious to the enemies
of their master, so that we may regard the respect
and consideration shown to the Man in the Mask
by the governor Saint-Mars, and the minister
Louvois, as a testimony, not only to his high rank,
but also to his innocence.

1962

THE MAN IN THE IRON MASK

For my part, I make no pretensions to the erudi-
tion of the bookworm, and I cannot read the history
of the Man in the Iron ]\Iask without feeling my
blood boil at the abominable abuse of power — the
heinous crime of which he was the victim.

A few years ago, M. Fournier and I, thinking the
subject suitable for representation on the stage,
undertook to read, before dramatising it, all the
different versions of the affair which had been
published up to that time. Since our piece was
successfully performed at the Odeon two other
versions have appeared: one was in the form of a
letter addressed to the Historical Institute by M.
Billiard, who upheld the conclusions arrived at by
Soulavie, on whose narrative our play was founded ;
the other was a work by the bibliophile Jacob, who
followed a new system of inquiry, and whose book
displayed the results of deep research and extensive
reading. It did not, however, cause me to change
my opinion. Even had it been published before I
had written my drama, I should still have adhered
to the idea as to the most probable solution of the
problem which I had arrived at in 1831, not only
because it was incontestably the most dramatic, but
also because it is supported by those moral pre-
sumptions which have such weight with us when
considering a dark and doubtful question like the
one before us. It will be objected, perhaps, that

1963

CELEBRATED CRIMES

dramatic writers, in their love of the marvellous
and the pathetic, neglect logic and strain after
effect, their aim being to obtain the applause of
the gallery rather than the approbation of the
learned. But to this it may be replied that the
learned on their part sacrifice a great deal to their
love of dates, more or less exact; to their desire to
elucidate some point which had hitherto been con-
sidered obscure, and which their explanations do
not always clear up; to the temptation to display
their proficiency in the ingenious art of manipulat-
ing facts and figures culled from a dozen musty
volumes into one consistent whole.

Our interest in this strange case of imprisonment
arises, not alone from its completeness and dura-
tion, but also from our uncertainty as to the motives
from which it was inflicted. Where erudition alone
cannot suf^ce; where bookworm after bookworm,
disdaining the conjectures of his predecessors,
comes forward with a new theory founded on some
forgotten document he has hunted out, only to find
himself in his turn pushed into oblivion by some
follower in his track, we must turn for guidance
to some other light than that of scholarship, espe-
cially if, on strict investigation, we find that not
one learned solution rests on a sound basis of fact.

In the question before us, which, as we said
before, is a double one, asking not only who was

1964

THE MAN IN THE IRON MASK

the Man in the Iron Mask, but why he was relent-
lessly subjected to this torture till the moment of
his death, what we need in order to restrain our
fancy is mathematical demonstration, and not phil-
osophical induction.

While I do not go so far as to assert positively
that Abbe Soulavie has once for all lifted the veil
which hid the truth, I am yet persuaded that no
other system of research is superior to his, and
that no other suggested solution has so many pre-
sumptions in its favour. I have not reached this
firm conviction on account of the great and pro-
lonsfed success of our drama, but because of the
ease with which all the opinions adverse to those
of the abbe may be annihilated by pitting them one
against the other.

The qualities that make for success being quite
different in a novel and in a drama, I could easily
have founded a romance on the fictitious loves of
Buckingham and the queen, or on a supposed secret
marriage between her and Cardinal Mazarin, call-
ing to my aid a work by Saint-Mihiel which the
bibliophile declares he has never read, although
it is assuredly neither rare nor difficult of access.
I might also have merely expanded my drama,
restoring to the personages therein their true names
and relative positions, both of which the exigencies
of the stage had sometimes obliged me to alter,

1965

CELEBRATED CRIMES

and while allowing them to fill the same parts,
making them act more in accordance with historical
fact. No fable however far-fetched, no grouping
of characters however improbable, can, however,
destroy the interest which the innumerable writings
about the Iron Mask excite, although no two agree
in details, and although each author and each wit-
ness declares himself in possession of complete
knowledge. No work, however mediocre, however
worthless even, which has appeared on this subject
has ever failed of success, not even, for example,
the strange jumble of Chevalier de Mouhy, a kind
of literary braggart, who was in the pay of Voltaire,
and whose work was published anonymously in
1746 by Pierre de Hondt of The Hague. It is
divided into six short parts, and bears the title,
Le Masque de Fer, oil les Aventures admirables du
Pere et du Fits. An absurd romance by Regnault-
Warin, and one at least equally absurd by Madame
Guenard, met with a like favourable reception. In
writing for the theatre, an author must choose one
view of a dramatic situation to the exclusion of
all others, and in following out this central idea
is obliged by the inexorable laws of logic to push
aside everything that interferes with its develop-
ment. A book, on the contrary, is written to be
discussed; it brings under the notice of the reader
all the evidence produced at a trial which has as yet

1966

THE MAN IN THE IRON MASK

not reached a definite conclusion, and which in the
case before us will never reach it, unless, which is
most improbable, some lucky chance should lead
to some new discovery.

The first mention of the prisoner is to be found
in the Mcnioires secrets pour servir a I'Histoire de
Perse in one i2mo volume, by an anonymous
author, published by the Compagnie des Libraires
Assocics d' Amsterdam in 1745.

" Not having any other purpose," says the author
'(page 20, 2nd edit.), "than to relate facts zvhich
are not knoijcn, or about zvhich no one has zuritten,
or about "which it is impossible to be silent, we refer
at once to a fact which has hitherto almost escaped
notice concerning Prince Giafer (Louis de Bour-
bon, Comte de Vermandois, son of Louis xiv and
Mademoiselle de la Valliere), who was visited by
Ali-Momajou (the Due d'Orleans, the regent) in
the fortress of Ispahan (the Bastille), in which he
had been imprisoned for several years. This visit
had probably no other motive than to make sure
that this prince was really alive, he having been
reputed dead of the plague for over thirty years,
and his obsequies having been celebrated in presence
of an entire army.

" Cha-Abas (Louis xiv) had a legitimate son,
Sephi-Mirza (Louis, Dauphin of France), and a

1967

CELEBRATED CRIMES

natural son, Giafer. These two princes, as dis-
similar in character as in birth, were always rivals
and always at enmity with each other. One day
Giafer so far forgot himself as to strike Sephi-
Mirza. Cha-Abas having heard of the insult
offered to the heir to the throne, assembled his
most trusted councillors, and laid the conduct of the
culprit before them — conduct which, according to
the law of the country, was punishable with death,
an opinion in which they all agreed. One of the
councillors, however, sympathising more than the
others with the distress of Cha-Abas, suggested that
Giafer should be sent to the army, which was then
on the frontiers of Feldrun (Flanders), and that
his death from plague should be given out a few
days after his arrival. Then, while the whole
army was celebrating his obsequies, he should be
carried off by night, in the greatest secrecy, to the
stronghold on the isle of Ormus ( Sainte-Margue-
rite), and there imprisoned for life.

" This course was adopted, and carried out by
faithful and discreet agents. The prince, whose
premature death was mourned by the army, being
carried by unfrequented roads to the isle of Ormus,
was placed in the custody of the commandant of
the island, who had received orders beforehand
not to allow any person whatever to see the
prisoner. A single servant who was in possession

1968

THE MAN IN THE IRON MASK

of the secret was killed by the escort on the journey,
and his face so disfigured by dagger thrusts that he
could not be recognised.

" The commandant treated his prisoner with the
most profound respect; he waited on him at meals
himself, taking the dishes from the cooks at the
door of the apartment, none of whom ever looked
on the face of Giafer. One day it occurred to the
prince to scratch his name on the back of a plate
with his knife. One of the servants into whose
hands the plate fell ran with it at once to the com-
mandant, hoping he would be pleased and reward
the bearer; but the unfortunate man was greatly
mistaken, for he was at once made away with, that
his knowledge of such an important secret might
be buried with himself.

" Giafer remained several years in the castle
Ormus, and was then transported to the fortress
of Ispahan; the commandant of Ormus having
received the governorship of Ispahan as a reward
for faithful service.

"At Ispahan, as at Ormus, whenever it was
necessary on account of illness or any other cause
to allow anyone to approach the prince, he was
always masked; and several trustworthy persons
have asserted that they had seen the masked
prisoner often, and had noticed that he used the
familiar ' tu ' when addressing the governor, while

1969

CELEBRATED CRIMES

the latter showed his charge the greatest respect.
" As Giafer survived Cha-Abas and Sephi-Mirza
by many years, it may be asked why he was never
set at liberty; but it must be remembered it would
have been impossible to restore a prince to his rank
and dignities whose tomb actually existed, and of
whose burial there were not only living witnesses
but documentary proofs, the authenticity of which
it would have been useless to deny, so firm was the
belief, which has lasted down to the present day, that
Giafer died of the plague in camp when with the
army on the frontiers of Flanders. Ali-Homajou
died shortly after the visit he paid to Giafer."

This version of the story, which is the original
source of all the controversy on the subject, was
at first generally received as true. On a critical
examination it fitted in very well with certain events
which took place in the reign of Louis xiv.

The Comte de Vermandois had in fact left the
court for the camp very soon after his reappearance
there, for he had been banished by the king from
his presence some time before for having, in corn-
pany with several young nobles, indulged in the
most reprehensible excesses.

" The king," says Mademoiselle de Montpensier
(Memoires de Mademoiselle de Montpensier, vol.
xliii. p. 474, of Memoires Relatifs a I'Histoire de

1970

THE MAN IN THE IRON MASK

France, Second Series, published by Petitot), "had
not been satisfied with his conduct and refused to
see him. The young prince had caused his mother
much sorrow, but had been so well lectured that it
was believed that he had at last turned over a new
leaf." He only remained four days at court,
reached the camp before Courtrai early in Novem-
ber 1683, was taken ill on the evening of the 12th,
and died on the 19th of the same month of a malig-
nant fever. Mademoiselle de Montpensier says that
the Comte de Vermandois " fell ill from drink."

There are, of course, objections of all kinds to
this theory.

For if, during the four days the comte was at
court, he had struck the dauphin, everyone would
have heard of the monstrous crime, and yet it is
nowliere spoken of, except in the Memoires de
Perse. What renders the story of the blow still
more improbable is the difference in age between the
two princes. The dauphin, who already had a son,
the Due de Bourgogne, more than a year old, was
born the ist November 1661, and was therefore six
years older than the Comte de Vermandois. But
the most complete answer to the tale is to be found
in a letter written by Barbezieux to Saint-Mars,
dated the 13th August 1691 : —

" When you have any information to send me
1971

CELEBRATED CRIMES

relative to the prisoner who has been in your charge
for twenty years, I most earnestly enjoin on you to
take the same precautions as when you write to M.
de Louvois."

The Comte de Vermandois, the official registra-
tion of whose death bears the date 1685, cannot
have been twenty years a prisoner in 1691.

Six years after the Man in the Mask had been
thus delivered over to the curiosity of the public,
the Siecle de Louis XIV (2 vols, octavo, Berlin,
1 751) was published by Voltaire under the pseu-
donym of M. de Francheville. Everyone turned to
this work, which had been long expected, for details
relating to the mysterious prisoner about whom
everyone was talking.

Voltaire ventured at length to speak more openly
of the prisoner than anyone had hitherto done, and
to treat as a matter of history " an event long
ignored by all historians." (vol. ii. p. 11, ist edition,
chap. XXV.). He assigned an approximate date to
the beginning of this captivity, " some months
after the death of Cardinal Mazarin " (1661); he
gave a description of the prisoner, who according
to him was " young and dark-complexioned ; his
figure was above the middle height and well pro-
portioned ; his features were exceedingly handsome,
and his bearing was noble. When he spoke his

1972

THE MAN IN THE IRON MASK

voice inspired interest; he never complained of his
lot, and gave no hint as to his rank.'' Nor was the
mask forgotten : " The part which covered the
chin was furnished with steel springs, which
allowed the prisoner to eat without uncovering his
face." And, lastly, he fixed the date of the death
of the nameless captive, who " was buried," he
says, " in 1704, by night, in the parish church of
Saint-Paul."

Voltaire's narrative coincided with the account
given in the Memoires de Perse, save for the omis-
sion of the incident which, according to the
Memoires, led in the first instance to the imprison-
ment of Giafer. " The prisoner," says Voltaire,
" was sent to the lies Sainte-Marguerite, and after-
wards to the Bastille, in charge of a trusty official;
he wore his mask on the journey, and his escort had
orders to shoot him if he took it off. The Marquis
de Louvois visited him while he was on the islands,
and when speaking to him stood all the time in a
respectful attitude. The prisoner was removed to
the Bastille in 1690, where he was lodged as com-
fortably as could be managed in that building; he
was supplied with everything he asked for, espe-
cially with the finest linen and the costliest lace, in
both of which his taste was perfect ; he had a guitar
to play on, his table was excellent, and the governor
rarely sat in his presence,"

1973

CEtEBRATET) CRIMES

Voltaire added a few further details which had
been given him by M. de Bernaville, the successor
of M. de Saint-Mars, and by an old physician of
the Bastille who had attended the prisoner when-
ever his health required a doctor, but who had
never seen his face, although he had " often seen
his tongue and his body." He also asserted that
M. de Chamillart was the last minister who was in
the secret, and that when his son-in-law. Marshal
de la Feuillade, besought him on his knees, de
Chamillart being on his deathbed, to tell him the
name of the Man in the Iron Mask, the minister
replied that he was under a solemn oath never to
reveal the secret, it being an affair of state. To all
these details, which the marshal acknowledges to
be correct, Voltaire adds a remarkable note:
" What increases our wonder is, that when the
unknown captive was sent to the lies Sainte-
Marguerite no personage of note disappeared from
the European stage."

The story of the Comte de Vermandois and the
blow was treated as an absurd and romantic inven-
tion, which does not even attempt to keep within the
bounds of the possible, by Baron C. (according to
P. Marchand, Baron Crunyngen) in a letter
inserted in the Bibliotheque raisonnee des Ouvrages
des Savants de V Europe, June 1745. The discus-
sion was revived somewhat later, however, and a

1974

THE MAN TX THE IRON MASK

few Dutch scholars were supposed to be responsible
for a new theory founded on history; the founda-
tions proving somewhat shaky, however, — a quality
which it shares, we must say, with all the other
theories which have ever been advanced.

According to this new theory, the masked pris-
oner was a young foreign nobleman, groom of the
chambers to Anne of Austria, and the real father
of Louis XIV. This anecdote appears first in a
duodecimo volume printed by Pierre Marteau at
Cologne in 1692, and which bears the title, The
Loves of Anne of Austria, Consort of Louis XIII,
with M. le C. D. R., the Real Father of Louis
XIV, King of France; being a Minute Account of
the Measures taken to give an Heir to the Throne
of France, the Influences at Work to bring this to
pass, and the Denoument of the Comedy.

This libel ran through five editions, bearing date
successively, 1692, 1693, 1696, 1722, and 1738.
In the title of the edition of 1696 the words " Car-
dinal de Richelieu " are inserted in place of the
initials " C. D, R.," but that this is only a printer's
error everyone who reads the work will perceive.
Some have thought the three letters stood for
Comte de Riviere, others for Comte de Rochefort,
whose Memoires compiled by Sandras de Courtilz
supply these initials. The author of the book was
an Orange writer in the pay of William iii, and its

1975

CELEBRATED CRIMES

object was, he says, " to unveil the great mystery
of iniquity which hid the true origin of Louis xiv."
He goes on to remark that " the knowledge of this
fraud, although comparatively rare outside France,
was widely spread within her borders. The well-
known coldness of Louis xiii, the extraordinary
birth of Louis-Dieudonne, so called because he was
born in the twenty-third year of a childless mar-
riage, and several other remarkable circumstances
connected with the birth, all point clearly to a
father other than the prince, who with great
effrontery is passed off by his adherents as such.
The famous barricades of Paris, and the organised
revolt led by distinguished men against Louis xiv
on his accession to the throne, proclaimed aloud
the king's illegitimacy, so that it rang through the
country; and as the accusation had reason on its
side, hardly anyone doubted its truth."

We give below a short abstract of the narrative,
the plot of which is rather skilfully constructed: —

" Cardinal Richelieu, looking with satisfied pride
at the love of Gaston, Due d'Orleans, brother of the
king, for his niece Parisiatis (Madame de Com-
balet), formed the plan of uniting the young couple
in marriage. Gaston taking the suggestion as an
insult, struck the cardinal. Pere Joseph then tried
to gain the cardinal's consent and that of his niece

1976

THE MAN IN THE IRON MASK

to an attempt to deprive Gaston of the throne,
which the childless marriage of Louis xiii seemed
to assure him. A young man, the C. D. R. of the
book, was introduced into Anne of Austria's room,
who though a wife in name had long been a widow
in reality. She defended herself but feebly, and on
seeing the cardinal next day said to him, "Well,
you have had your wicked will ; but take good care,
sir cardinal, that I may find above the mercy and
goodness which you have tried by many pious
sophistries to convince me is awaiting me. Watch
over my soul, I charge you, for I have yielded ! '
The queen having given herself up to love for some
time, the joyful news that she would soon become
a mother began to spread over the kingdom. In
this manner was born Louis xiv^ the putative son
of Louis XIII. If this instalment of the tale be
favourably received, says the pamphleteer, the
sequel will soon follow, in which the sad fate of
C. D. R. will be related, who was made to pay
dearly for his short-lived pleasure."

Although the first part was a great success, the
promised sequel never appeared. It must be ad-
mitted that such a story, though it never convinced a
single person of the illegitimacy of Louis xiv, was
an excellent prologue to the tale of the unfortunate
lot of the Man in the Iron Mask, and increased

1977 Dumas— \ol. U— C

CELEBRATED CRIMES

the interest and curiosity with which that singular
historical mystery was regarded. But the views
of the Dutch scholars thus set forth met with little
credence, and were soon forgotten in a new
solution.

The third historian to write about the prisoner
• of the lies Sainte-Marguerite was Lagrange-Chan-
cel. He was just twenty-nine years of age when,
excited by Freron's hatred of Voltaire, he addressed
a letter from his country place, Antoniat, in Peri-
gord, to the Annee Litteraire (vol. iii. p. i88),
demolishing the theory advanced in the Siecle de
Louis XIV, and giving facts which he had collected
whilst himself imprisoned in the same place as the
unknown prisoner twenty years later.

" My detention in the Iles-Saint-Marguerite,"
says Lagrange-Chancel, " brought many things to
my knowledge which a more painstaking historian
than M. de Voltaire would have taken the trouble
to find out ; for at the time when I was taken to the
islands the imprisonment of the Man in the Iron
Mask was no longer regarded as a state secret.
This extraordinary event, which M. de Voltaire
places in 1662, a few months after the death of
Cardinal Mazarin, did not take place till 1669, eight
years after the death of His Eminence. M. de La
Motte-Guerin, commandant of the islands in my

1978

THE MAN IN THE IRON MASK

time, assured me that the prisoner was the Due de
Beaufort, who was reported killed at the siege of
Candia, but whose body had never been recovered,
as all the narratives of that event agree in stating.
He also told me that M. de Saint-]\Iars, who suc-
ceeded Pignerol as governor of the islands, showed
great consideration for the prisoner, that he waited
on him at table, that the service was of silver, and
that the clothes supplied to the prisoner were as
costly as he desired; that when he was ill and in
need of a physician or surgeon, he was obliged un-
der pain of death to wear his mask in their pres-
ence, but that when he was alone he was permitted
to pull out the hairs of his beard with steel tweezers,
which were kept bright and polished. I saw a pair
of these which had been actually used for this pur-
pose in the possession of M. de Formanoir, nephew
of Saint-]\Iars, and lieutenant of a Free Company
raised for the purpose of guarding the prisoners.
Several persons told me that when Saint-Mars, who
had been placed over the Bastille, conducted his
charge thither, the latter was heard to say behind
his iron mask, ' Has the king designs on my life? '
To which Saint-Mars replied, * No, my prince ; your
life is safe : you must only let yourself be guided.'

" I also learned from a man called Dubuisson,
cashier to the well-known Samuel Bernard, who,
having been imprisoned for some years in the Bas-

1979

CELEBRATED CRIMES

tille, was removed to the lies Sainte-Marguerite,
where he was confined along with some others in a
room exactly over the one occupied by the unknown
prisoner. He told me that they were able to com-
municate with him by means of the flue of the chim-
ney, but on asking him why he persisted in not re-
vealing his name and the cause of his imprisonment,
he replied that such an avowal would be fatal
not only to him but to those to whom he made
it.

" Whether it were so or not, to-day the name and
rank of this political victim are secrets the preserva-
tion of which is no longer necessary to the State,
and I have thought that to tell the public what I
know would cut short the long chain of circum-
stances which everyone was forging according to
his fancy, instigated thereto by an author whose gift
of relating the most impossible events in such a
manner as to make them seem true has won for all
his writings such success — even for his Vie de
Charles XII."

This theory, according to Jacob, is more probable
than any of the others.

" Beginning with the year 1664," he says, " the
Due de Beaufort had by his insubordination and
levity endangered the success of several maritime
expeditions. In October 1666 Louis xiv remon-

1980

THE MAN IN THE IRON MASK

strated with him with much tact, begging him to
try to make himself more and more capable in the
service of his king by cultivating the talents with
which he was endowed, and ridding himself of the
faults which spoilt his conduct. * I do not doubt,'
he concludes, * that you will be all the more grateful
to me for this mark of my benevolence towards you,
when you reflect how few kings have ever shown
their goodwill in a similar manner' " (Oeuvres de
Louis XIV, vol. V. p. 388). Several calamities in
the royal navy are known to have been brought
about by the Due de Beaufort. M. Eugene Sue, in
his Hist aire de la Marine, which is full of new and
curious information, has drawn a very good picture
of the position of the " roi des halles," the " king
of the markets," in regard to Colbert and Louis
XIV. Colbert wished to direct all the manoeuvres of
the fleet from his study, while it was commanded
by the naval grandmaster in the capricious manner
which might be expected from his factious character
and love of bluster (Eugene Sue, vol. i.. Pieces
Justiiicatives). In 1699 Louis xiv sent the Due de
Beaufort to the relief of Candia, which the Turks
were besieging. Seven hours after his arrival Beau-
fort was killed in a sortie. The Due de Navailles,
who shared with him the command of the French
squadron, simply reported his death as follows:
" He met a body of Turks who were pressing our

1981

CELEBRATED CRIMES

troops hard : placing himself at the head of the lat-
ter, he fought valiantly, but at length his soldiers
abandoned him, and we have not been able to learn
his fate " {Memoir es du Due de Navailles, book iv.

P-243)-

The report of his death spread rapidly through
France and Italy ; magnificent funeral services were
held in Paris, Rome, and Venice, and funeral ora-
tions delivered. Nevertheless, many believed that
he would one day reappear, as his body had never
been recovered,

Guy Patin mentions this belief, which he did not
share, in two of his letters: —

" Several wagers have been laid that M. de Beau-
fort is not dead! utinam!" (Guy Patin, Sep-
tember 26, 1669).

" It is said that M. de Vivonne has been granted
by commission the post of vice-admiral of France
for twenty years; but there are many who believe
that the Due de Beaufort is not dead, but impris-
oned in some Turkish island. Believe this who may,
/ don't; he is really dead, and the last thing I
should desire would be to be as dead as he " {Ibid.,
January 14, 1670).

The following are the objections to this theory: —
" In several narratives written by eye-witnesses
1982

THE MAN IN THE IRON MASK

of the siege of Candia," says Jacob, " it is related
that the Turks, according to their custom, despoiled
the body and cut off the head of the Due de Beau-
fort on the field of battle, and that the latter was
afterwards exhibited at Constantinople; and this
may account for some of the details given by San-
dras de Courtilz in his Mcmoires dti Marquis de
Monthrun and his Mcmoires d'Artagnan, for one
can easily imagine that the naked, headless body
might escape recognition. M. Eugene Sue, in his
Histoire de la Marine (vol. ii. chap. 6), had adopted
this view, which coincides with the accounts left by
Philibert de Jarry and the Marquis de Ville, the
MSS. of whose letters and Mcmoires are to be
found in the Bibliotheque du Roi.

" In the first volume of the Histoire de la Deten-
tion des Philosophes ct dcs Gens de Lettrcs a la Bas-
tille, etc., we find the following passage: —

" Without dwelling on the difficulty and danger
of an abduction, which an Ottoman scimitar might
any day during this memorable siege render un-
necessary, we shall restrict ourselves to declaring
positively that the correspondence of Saint-Mars
from 1669 to 1680 gives us no ground for sup-
posing that the governor of Pignerol had any great
prisoner of state in his charge during that period
of time, except Fouquet and Lauzun.' "

1983

CELEBRATED CRIMES

While we profess no blind faith in the conclusions
arrived at by the learned critic, we would yet add
to the considerations on which he relies another,
viz. that it is most improbable that Louis xiv should
ever have considered it necessary to take such rigor-
ous measures against the Due de Beaufort. Trucu-
lent and self-confident as he was, he never acted
against the royal authority in such a manner as to
oblige the king to strike him down in secret; and
it is difficult to believe that Louis xiv, peaceably
seated on his throne, with all the enemies of his
minority under his feet, should have revenged him-
self on the duke as an old Frondeur.

The critic calls our attention to another fact also
adverse to the theory under consideration. The
Man in the Iron Mask loved fine linen and rich lace,
he was reserved in character and possessed of ex-
treme refinement, and none of this suits the por-
traits of the roi dcs hallcs which contemporary his-
torians have drawn.

Regarding the anagram of the name Marchi-
ali (the name under which the death of the
prisoner was registered), hie amiral, as a proof,
we cannot think that the gaolers of Pignerol
amused themselves in propounding conundrums
to exercise the keen intellect of their contempora-
ries; and moreover the same anagram would apply
equally well to the Count of Vermandois, who was

1984

THE MAN IN THE IRON MASK

made admiral when only twenty-two months old.
Abbe Papon, in his roamings through Provence,
paid a visit to the prison in which the Iron Mask
was confined, and thus speaks : —

" It was to the lies Sainte-Marguerite that the
famous prisoner with the iron mask whose name has
never been discovered, was transported at the end
of the last century; very few of those attached to
his service were allowed to speak to him. One day,
as M. de Saint- ]\Iars was conversing with him,
standing outside his door, in a kind of corridor,
so as to be able to see from a distance everyone who
approached, the son of one of the governor's
friends, hearing the voices, came up; Saint-Mars
quickly closed the door of the room, and, rushing
to meet the young man, asked him with an air of
great anxiety if he had overheard anything that was
said. Having convinced himself that he had heard
nothing, the governor sent the young man away
the same day, and wrote to the father that the ad-
venture was like to have cost the son dear, and that
he had sent him back to his home to prevent any fur-
ther imprudence.

" I was curious enough to visit the room in which
the unfortunate man was imprisoned, on the 2nd
of February i77cS. It is lighted by one window to
the north, overlooking the sea, about fifteen feet

1985

CELEBRATED CRIMES

above the terrace where the sentries paced to and
fro. This window was pierced through a very thick
wall and the embrasure barricaded by three iron
bars, thus separating the prisoner from the sentries
by a distance of over two fathoms. I found an
officer of the Free Company in the fortress who was
nigh on fourscore years old; he told me that his
father, who had belonged to the same Company, had
often related to him how a friar had seen something
white floating on the water under the prisoner's
window. On being fished out and carried to M. de
Saint-Mars, it proved to be a shirt of very fine
material, loosely folded together, and covered with
writing from end to end. M. de Saint-Mars spread
it out and read a few words, then turning to the
friar who had brought it he asked him in an embar-
rassed manner if he had been led by curiosity to
read any of the writing. The friar protested re-
peatedly that he had not read a line, but neverthe-
less he was found dead in bed two days later. This
incident was told so often to my Informant by his
father and by the chaplain of the fort of that time
that he regarded it as incontestably true. The fol-
lowing fact also appears to me to be equally well
established by the testimony of many witnesses. I
collected all the evidence I could on the spot, and
also in the Lerins monastery, where the tradition
is preserved.

1986

THE MAN IN THE IRON MASK

" A female attendant being wanted for the pris-
oner, a woman of the village of Mongin offered
herself for the place, being under the impression
that she would thus be able to make her children's
fortune ; but on being told that she would not only
never be allowed to see her children again, but
would be cut off from the rest of the world as well,
she refused to be shut up with a prisoner whom it cost
so much to serve. I may mention here that at the
two outer angles of the wall of the fort which faced
the sea two sentries were placed, with orders to fire
on any boat which approached within a certain dis-
tance.

" The prisoner's personal attendant died in the
lies Sainte-Marguerite. The brother of the officer
whom I mentioned above was partly in the confi-
dence of AI. de Saint-Mars, and he often told how
he was summoned to the prison once at midnight
and ordered to remove a corpse, and that he carried
it on his shoulders to the burial-place, feeling
certain it was the prisoner who was dead; but it
was only his servant, and it was then that an ef-
fort was made to supply his place by a female
attendant."

Abbe Papon gives some curious details, hitherto
unknown to the public, but as he mentions no names
his narrative cannot be considered as evidence.

1987

CELEBRATED CRIMES

Voltaire never replied to Lagrange-Chancel, who
died the same year in which his letter was published.
Freron desiring to revenge himself for the scathing
portrait which Voltaire had drawn of him in the
Ecossaise, called to his assistance a more redoubt-
able adversary than Lagrange-Chancel. Sainte-
Foix had brought to the front a brand new theory,
founded on a passage by Hume in an article in the
Annee Litteraire (1768, vol. iv.), in which he main-
tained that the Man in the Iron Mask was the Duke
of Monmouth, a natural son of Charles 11, who was
found guilty of high treason and beheaded in Lon-
don on the 15th July 1685.

This is what the English historian says : —

" It was commonly reported in London that the
Duke of Monmouth's life had been saved, one of
his adherents who bore a striking resemblance to
the duke having consented to die in his stead, while
the real culprit was secretly carried off to France,
there to undergo a lifelong imprisonment."

The great affection which the English felt for the
Duke of Monmouth, and his own conviction that
the people only needed a leader to induce them to
shake off the yoke of James 11^ led him to undertake
an enterprise which might possibly have succeeded
had it been carried out with prudence. He landed

1988

THE MAN IN THE IRON MASK

at Lyme, in Dorset, with only one hundred and
twenty men ; six thousand soon gathered round his
standard; a few towns declared in his favour; he
caused himself to be proclaimed king, affirming that
he was born in wedlock, and that he possessed the
proofs of the secret marriage of Charles ii and
Lucy Walters, his mother. He met the Royalists
on the battlefield, and victory seemed to be on his
side, when just at the decisive moment his ammuni-
tion ran short. Lord Gray, who commanded the
cavalry, beat a cowardly retreat, the unfortunate
Monmouth was taken prisoner, brought to London,
and beheaded.

The details published in the Siecle dc Louis XIV
as to the personal appearance of the masked pris-
oner might have been taken as a description of Mon-
mouth, who possessed great physical beauty.
Sainte-Foix had collected every scrap of evidence
in favour of his solution of the mystery, making
use even of the following passage from an anony-
mous romance called The Loves of Charles II and
James II, Kings of England: —

" The night of the pretended execution of the
Duke of Monmouth, the king, attended by three
men, came to the Tower and summoned the duke
to his presence. A kind of loose cowl was thrown
over his head, and he was put into a carriage, into

1989

CELEBRATED CRIMES

which the king and his attendants also got, and
was driven away."

Sainte-Foix also referred to the alleged visit of
Saunders, confessor to James ii, paid to the Duchess
of Portsmouth after the death of that monarch,
when the duchess took occasion to say that she
could never forgive King James for consenting to
Monmouth's execution, in spite of the oath he had
taken on the sacred elements at the deathbed of
Charles ii that he would never take his natural
brother's life, even in case of rebellion. To this
the priest replied quickly, "The king kept his
oath."

Hume also records this solemn oath, but we can-
not say that all the historians agree on this point.
The Universal History by Guthrie and Gray, and
the Histoire d'Augleterre by Rapin, Thoyras, and
de Barrow, do not mention it.

" Further," wrote Sainte-Foix, " an English sur-
geon called Nelaton, who frequented the Cafe Pro-
cope, much affected by men of letters, often related
that during the time he was senior apprentice to
a surgeon who lived near the Porte Saint-Antoine,
he was once taken to the Bastille to bleed a prisoner.
He was conducted to this prisoner's room by the
governor himself, and found the patient suffering
from violent headache. He spoke with an English

1990

THE MAN IN THE IRON MASK

accent, wore a gold-flowered dressing-gown of
black and orange, and had his face covered by a
napkin knotted behind his head."

This story does not hold water : it would be diffi-
cult to fomi a mask out of a napkin; the Bastille
had a resident surgeon of its own as well as a
physician and apothecary; no one could gain access
to a prisoner without a written order from a min-
ister, even the Viaticum could only be introduced
by the express permission of the lieutenant of police.

This theory met at first with no objections, and
seemed to be going to oust all the others, thanks,
perhaps, to the combative and restive character of
its promulgator, who bore criticism badly, and whom
no one cared to incense, his sword being even more
redoubtable than his pen.

It was known that when Saint-Mars journeyed
with his prisoner to the Bastille, they had put up
on the way at Palteau, in Champagne, a property
belonging to the governor. Freron therefore ad-
dressed himself to a grand-nephew of Saint-Mars,
who had inherited this estate, asking if he could give
him any information about this visit. The follow-
ing reply appeared in the Annee Litteraire (June
1768) :-

" As it appears from the letter of M. de Sainte-
Foix from which you quote that the Man in the Iron

1991

CELEBRATED CRIMES

Mask still exercises the fancy of your journalists,
I am willing to tell you all I know about the pris-
oner. He was known in the islands of Sainte-
Marguerite and at the Bastille as ' La Tour.' The
governor and all the other officials showed him
great respect, and supplied him with everything he
asked for that could be granted to a prisoner. He
often took exercise in the yard of the prison, but
never without his mask on. It was not till the Steele
of M. de Voltaire appeared that I learned that the
mask was of iron and furnished with springs; it
may be that the circumstance was overlooked, but
he never wore it except when taking the air, or
when he had to appear before a stranger.

" M. de Blainvilliers, an infantry officer who was
acquainted with M. de Saint-Mars both at Pignerol
and Sainte-Marguerite, has often told me that the
lot of * La Tour ' greatly excited his curiosity, and
that he had once borrowed the clothes and arms
of a soldier whose turn it was to be sentry on the
terrace under the prisoner's window at Sainte-Mar-
guerite, and undertaken the duty himself ; that he
had seen the prisoner distinctly, without his mask;
that his face was white, that he was tall and well
proportioned, except that his ankles were too thick,
and that his hair was white, although he appeared
to be still in the prime of life. He passed the whole
of the night in question pacing to and fro in his

1992

THE MAN IN THE IRON MASK

room. Blainvilliers added that he was ahvays
dressed in brown, that he had plenty of fine linen
and books, that the governor and the other officers
always stood uncovered in his presence till he gave
tliem leave to cover and sit down, and that they
often bore him company at table.

" In 1698 M. de Saint-Mars was promoted from
the governorship of the lies Sainte-Marguerite to
that of the Bastille. In moving thither, accompan-
ied by his prisoner, he made his estate of Palteau
a halting-place. The masked man arrived in a lit-
ter which preceded that of M. de Saint-]\Iars, and
several mounted men rode beside it. The peasants
were assembled to greet their liege lord. M. de
Saint-Mars dined with his prisoner, who sat with
his back to the dining-room windows, which looked
out on the court. None of the peasants whom I
have questioned were able to see whether the man
kept his mask on while eating, but they all noticed
that M. de Saint-Mars, who sat opposite to his
charge, laid two pistols beside his plate; that only
one footman waited at table, who went into the
antechamber to change the plates and dishes, always
carefully closing the dining-room door behind him.
When the prisoner crossed the courtyard his face
was covered with a black mask, but the peasants
could see his lips and teeth, and remarked that he
was tall, and had white hair. M. de Saint-Mars

1993

CELEBRATED CRIMES

slept in a bed placed beside the prisoner's. M. de
Blainvilliers told me also that ' as soon as he was
dead, which happened in 1704, he was buried at
Saint- Paul's,' and that ' the coffin was filled with
substances which would rapidly consume the body.*
He added, ' I never heard that the masked man
spoke with an English accent.* "

Sainte-Foix proved the story related by M. de
Blainvilliers to be little worthy of belief, showing
by a circumstance mentioned in the letter that the
imprisoned man could not be the Due de Beaufort;
witness the epigram of Madame de Choisy, " M. de
Beaufort longs to bite and can't," whereas the
peasants had seen the prisoner's teeth through his
mask. It appeared as if the theory of Sainte-Foix
were going to stand, when a Jesuit father, named
Griffet, who was confessor at the Bastille, devoted
chapter xiii. of his Traite des differ entes Sortcs de
Preuves qui servent a ctablir la Verite dans I'His'
toirc (i2mo, Liege, 1769) to the consideration of
the Iron Mask. He was the first to quote an authen-
tic document which certifies that the Man in the
Iron Mask about whom there was so much disput-
ing really existed. This was the written journal of
M. du Jonca, King's Lieutenant in the Bastille in
1698, from which Pere Griffet took the following
passage : —

1994

THE MAN IN THE IRON MASK

" On Thursday, September the 8th, 1698, at three
o'clock in the afternoon, M. de Saint-Mars, the new
governor of the Bastille, entered upon his duties.
He arrived from the islands of Sainte-Marguerite,
bringing with him in a litter a prisoner whose name
is a secret, and whom he had had under his charge
there, and at Pignerol. This prisoner, who was
always masked, was at first placed in the Bassin-
iere tower, where he remained until the evening.
At nine o'clock p.m. I took him to the third room
of the Bertaudiere tower, which I had had already
furnished before his arrival with all needful articles,
having received orders to do so from M. de Saint-
Mars. While I was showing him the way to his
room, I was accompanied by M. Rosarges, who had
also arrived along with M. de Saint-Mars, and
whose office it was to wait on the said prisoner,
whose table is to be supplied by the governor."

Du Jonca's diary records the death of the pris-
oner in the following terms : —

" Monday, 19th November 1703. The unknown
prisoner, who always wore a black velvet mask, and
whom M. de Saint-Mars brought with him from
the lies Sainte-Marguerite, and whom he had so
long in charge, felt slightly unwell yesterday on
coming back from mass. He died to-day at 10 p.m.

1995

CELEBRATED CRIMES

without having a serious illness, indeed it could not
have been slighter. M. Guiraut, our chaplain, con-
fessed him yesterday, but as his death was quite
unexpected he did not receive the last sacraments,
although the chaplain was able to exhort him up to
the moment of his death. He was buried on Tues-
day the 20th November at 4 p.m. in the burial-
ground of St. Paul's, our parish church. The
funeral expenses amounted to 40 livres."

His name and age were withheld from the priests
of the parish. The entry made in the parish regis-
ter, v;hich Pere Griffet also gives, is in the follow-
ing words: —

" On the 19th November 1703, Marchiali, aged
about forty-five, died in the Bastille, whose body
was buried in the graveyard of Saint-Paul's, his
parish, on the 20th instant, in the presence of M.
Rosarges and of M. Reilh, Surgeon-Major of the
Bastille.

" (Signed) Rosarges,
" Reilh."

As soon as he was dead everything belonging to
him, without exception, was burned; such as his
linen, clothes, bed and bedding, rugs, chairs, and
even the doors of the room he occupied. His ser-

1996

THE MAN IN THE IRON MASK

vice of plate was melted down, the walls of his room
were scoured and whitewashed, the very floor was
renewed, from fear of his having hidden a note
under it, or left some mark by which he could be
recognised.

Pere Griffet did not agree with the opinions of
either Lagrange-Chancel or Sainte-Foix, but seemed
to incline towards the theory set forth in the Me-
moires de Perse, against which no irrefutable ob-
jections had been advanced. He concluded by say-
ing that before arriving at any decision as to who
the prisoner really was, it would be necessary to as-
certain the exact date of his arrival at Pignerol.

Sainte-Foix hastened to reply, upholding the
soundness of the views he had advanced. He pro-
cured from Arras a copy of an entry in the registers
of the Cathedral Chapter, stating that Louis xiv
had written with his own hand to the said Chapter
that they were to admit to burial the body of the
Comte de Vermandois, who had died in the city
of Courtrai ; that he desired that the deceased should
be interred in the centre of the choir, in the vault
in which lay the remains of Elisabeth, Comtesse de
Vermandois, wife of Philip of Alsace, Comte de
Flanders, who had died in 1182. It is not to be sup-
posed that Louis xiv would have chosen a family
vault in which to bury a log of wood.

Sainte-Foix was, however, not acquainted with
1997

CELEBRATED CRIMES

the letter of Barbezieux, dated the 13th August
1691, to which we have already referred, as a proof
that the prisoner was not the Comte de Vermandois ;
it is equally a proof that he was not the Duke of
Monmouth, as Sainte-Foix maintained; for sen-
tence was passed on the Duke of Monmouth in
1685, so that it could not be of him either that
Barbezieux wrote in 1691, "The prisoner whom
you have had in charge for twenty years."

In the very year in which Sainte-Foix began to
flatter himself that his theory was successfully
established, Baron Heiss brought a new one for-
ward, in a letter dated "Phalsburg, 28th June
1770," and addressed to the Journal Enclycope-
dique. It was accompanied by a letter translated
from the Italian which appeared in the Histoire
Ahregee de I' Europe by Jacques Bernard, published
by Claude Jordan, Leyden, 1685-87, in detached
sheets. This letter stated (August 1687, article
Mantone) that the Duke of Mantua being desirous
to sell his capital, Casale, to the King of France,
had been dissuaded therefrom by his secretary, and
induced to join the other princes of Italy in their
endeavours to thwart the ambitious schemes of
Louis XIV, The Marquis d'Arcy, French ambassa-
dor to the court of Savoy, having been informed
of the secretary's influence, distinguished him by
all kinds of civilities, asked him frequently to table,

1998

THE MAN IN THE IRON MASK

and at last invited him to join a large hunting
party two or three leagues outside Turin. They
set out together, but at a short distance from the
city were surrounded by a dozen horsemen, who
carried off the secretary, disguised him, put a mask
on him, and took him to Pignerol. He was not kept
long in this fortress, as it was too near the Italian
frontier, and although he zcas carefully guarded
it was feared that the zvalls zvould speak; so he
was transferred to the ties Sainte-Marguerite,
where he is at present in the custody of M. de Saint- '■
Mars.

This theory, of which much was heard later, did
not at first excite much attention. What is certain
is that the Duke of Mantua's secretary, by name
Matthioli, was arrested in 1679 through the agency
of Abbe d'Estrade and M. de Catinat, and taken
with the utmost secrecy to Pignerol, where he was
imprisoned and placed in charge of M. de Saint-
Mars. He must not, however, be confounded with
the Man in the Iron Mask.

Catinat says of Matthioli in a letter to Louvois:
" No one knows the name of this knave/'

Louvois writes to Saint-Mars: "I admire your
patience in waiting for an order to treat such a
rogue as he deserves, when he treats you with
disrespect."

Saint-Mars replies to the minister: "I have
1999

CELEBRATED CRIMES

charged Blainvilliers to show him a cudgel and tell
him that with its aid we can make the froward
meek."

Again Louvois writes : " The clothes of such
people must be made to last three or four
years."

This cannot have been the nameless prisoner who
was treated with such consideration, before whom
Louvois stood bare-headed, who was supplied with
fine linen and lace, and so on.

Altogether, we gather from the correspondence
of Saint-Mars that the unhappy man alluded to
above was confined along with a mad Jacobin, and
at last became mad himself, and succumbed to his
misery in 1686.

Voltaire, who was probably the first to supply
such inexhaustible food for controversy, kept silence
and took no part in the discussions. But when all
the theories had been presented to the public, he
set about refuting them. He made himself very
merry, in the seventh edition of Questions stir
I'Encyclopedie distibuees en forme de Dictionnaire
(Geneva, 1791), over the complaisance attributed
to Louis XIV in acting as police-sergeant and gaoler
for James 11, William in, and Anne, with all of
whom he was at war. Persisting still in taking
1661 or 1662 as the date when the incarceration of
the masked prisoner began, he attacks the opinions

2000

THE MAN IN THE IRON MASK

advanced by Lagrange-Chancel and Pere Griffet,
which they had drawn from the anonymous
Mhnoires secrets pour servir a I'Histoire de Perse.
" Having thus dissipated all these illusions," he
says, " let us now consider who the masked prisoner
was, and how old he was when he died. It is
evident that if he was never allowed to walk in the
courtyard of the Bastille or to see a physician
without his mask, it must have been lest his too
striking resemblance to someone should be re-
marked; he could show his tongue but not his face.
As regards his age, he himself told the apothecary
at the Bastille, a few days before his death, that he
thought he was about sixty; this I have often heard
from a son-in-law to this apothecary, M. Marsoban,
surgeon to Marshal Richelieu, and afterwards to
the regent, the Due d'Orleans. The writer of this
article knows perhaps more on this subject than
Pere Griffet. But he has said his say."

This article in the Questions on the Encyclopaedia
was followed by some remarks from the pen of the
publisher, which are also, however, attributed by
the publishers of Kelh to Voltaire himself. The
publisher, who sometimes calls himself the author,
puts aside without refutation all the theories ad-
vanced, including that of Baron Heiss, and says he
has come to the conclusion that the Iron Mask was,
without doubt, a brother and an elder brother of

200 1

CELEBRATED CRIMES

Louis xiv^ by a lover of the queen. Anne of Austria
had come to persuade herself that hers alone was
the fault which had deprived Louis xiv of an heir,
but the birth of the Iron Mask undeceived her. The
cardinal, to whom she confided her secret, cleverly
arranged to bring the king and queen, who had long
lived apart, together again. A second son was the
result of this reconciliation ; and the first child being
removed in secret, Louis xiv remained in ignorance
of the existence of his half-brother till after his
majority. It was the policy of Louis xiv to affect a
great respect for the royal house, so he avoided
much embarrassment to himself and a scandal
affecting the memory of Anne of Austria by adopt-
ing the wise and fust measure of burying alive the
pledge of an adulterous love. He was thus enabled
to avoid committing an act of cruelty, which a sov-
ereign less conscientious and less magnanimons
would have considered a necessity.

After this declaration Voltaire made no further
reference to the Iron Mask. This last version of
the story upset that of Sainte-Foix. Voltaire hav-
ing been initiated into the state secret by the
Marquis de Richelieu, we may be permitted to sus-
pect that being naturally indiscreet he published
the truth from behind the shelter of a pseudonym,
or at least gave a version which approached the
truth, but later on realising the dangerous signifi-

2002

THE MAN IN THE IRON MASK

cance of his words, he preserved for the future
complete silence.

We now approach the question whether the prince
who thus became the Iron Mask was an illegitimate
brother or a twin-brother of Louis xiv. The first
was maintained by M. Ouentin-Crawfurd ; the
second by Abbe Soulavie in his Mcinoires dii Mare-
chal Due de Ricliclicu (London, 1790). In 1783
the Marquis de Luchet, in the Journal des Gens du
Monde (vol. iv. No. 23, p. 282, et seq.), awarded
to Buckingham the honour of the paternity in
dispute. In support of this, he quoted the testi-
mony of a lady of the house of Saint-Quentin who
had been a mistress of the minister Barbezieux,
and who died at Chartres about the middle of the
eighteenth century. She had declared publicly that
Louis XIV had consigned his elder brother to per-
petual imprisonment, and that the mask was neces-
sitated by the close resemblance of the two brothers
to each other.

The Duke of Buckingham, who came to France
in 1625, in order to escort Henrietta Maria, sister
of Louis XIII, to England, where she was to marry
the Prince of Wales, made no secret of his ardent
love for the queen, and it is almost certain that she
was not insensible to his passion. An anonymous
pamphlet, La Conference du Cardinal Maaarin avec
le Gazetier (Brussels, 1649), says that she was in-

2003

CELEBRATED CRIMES

fatuated about him, and allowed him to visit her in
her room. She even permitted him to take off and
keep one of her gloves, and his vanity leading him
to show his spoil, the king heard of it, and was
vastly offended. An anecdote, the truth of which
no one has ever denied, relates that one day Buck-
ingham spoke to the queen with such passion in the
presence of her lady-in-waiting, the Marquise de
Senecey, that the latter exclaimed, " Be silent, sir,
you cannot speak thus to the Queen of France ! "
According to this version, the Man in the Iron
Mask must have been born at latest in 1637, but
the mention of any such date would destroy the
possibility of Buckingham's paternity, for he was
assassinated at Portsmouth on September 2nd,
1628.

After the taking of the Bastille the masked pris-
oner became the fashionable topic of discussion,
and one heard of nothing else. On the 13th of
August 1789 it was announced in an article in a
journal called Loisirs d'nn Patriotc frangais, which
was afterwards published anonymously as a pam-
phlet, that the publisher had seen, among other
documents found in the Bastille, a card bearing the
unintelligible number " 64389000," and the follow-
ing note : " Fouquet, arriving from Les lies Sainte-
Marguerite in an iron mask." To this there was, it
was said, a double signature, viz. " XXX," super-

2004

THE MAN IN THE IRON MASK

imposed on the name " Kersadion." The journalist
was of opinion that Fouquet had succeeded in mak-
ing his escape, but had been retaken and condemned
to pass for dead, and to wear a mask henceforward,
as a punishment for his attempted evasion. This
tale made some impression, for it was remembered
that in the Supplement to the Siecle dc Louis XIV
it was stated that Chamillart had said that " the
Iron Mask was a man who knew all the secrets of
M. Fouquet." But the existence of this card was
never proved, and we cannot accept the story on the
unsupported word of an anonymous writer.

From the time that restrictions on the press were
removed, hardly a day passed without the appear-
ance of some new pamphlet on the Iron Mask.
Louis Dutens, in Correspondence hiterceptee
(i2mo, 1789), revived the theory of Baron Heiss,
supporting it by new and curious facts. He proved
that Louis xiv had really ordered one of the Duke
of Mantua's ministers to be carried off and im-
prisoned in Pignerol. Dutens gave the name of the
victim as Girolamo Magni. He also quoted from
a memorandum which by the wish of the Marquis
de Castellane was drawn up by a certain Souchon,
probably the man wliom Papon questioned in 1778.
This Souchon was the son of a man who had be-
longed to the Free Company maintained in the
islands in the time of Saint-Mars, and was seventy-

2005

CELEBRATED CRIMES

nine years old. This memorandum gives a detailed
account of the abduction of a minister in 1679, who
is styled a " minister of the Empire," and his
arrival as a masked prisoner at the islands, and
states that he died there in captivity nine years
after he w^as carried off.

Dutens thus divests the episode of the element
of the marvellous with which Voltaire had sur-
rounded it. He called to his aid the testimony of
the Due de Choiseul, who, having in vain attempted
to worm the secret of the Iron Mask out of Louis
xv^ begged Madame de Pompadour to try her hand,
and was told by her that the prisoner was the
minister of an Italian prince. At the same time
that Dutens wrote, " There is no fact in history
better established than the fact that the Man in
the Iron Mask was a minister of the Duke of
Mantua who was carried off from Turin," M.
Quentin-Crawfurd was maintaining that the
prisoner was a son of Anne of Austria; while a few
years earlier Bouche, a lawyer. In his Essai sur
VHistoire de Provence (2 vols. 4to, 1785), had
regarded this story as a fable invented by Voltaire,
and had convinced himself that the prisoner was
a woman. As we see, discussion threw no light on
the subject, and instead of being dissipated, the con-
fusion became ever " worse confounded."

In 1790 the Memoir es du Mare dial de Richelieu
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THE MAN' IN THE IRON MASK

appeared. He had left his note-books, his Hbrary,
and his correspondence to Soulavie. The Memoires
are undoubtedly authentic, and have, if not cer-
tainty, at least a strong moral presumption in their
favour, and gained the belief of men holding
diverse opinions. But before placing under the
eyes of our readers extracts from them relating to *
the Iron Mask, let us refresh our memory by re-
calling two theories which had not stood the test of
thorough investigation.

According to som.e MS. notes left by M. de
Bonac, French ambassador at Constantinople in
1724, the Armenian Patriarch Arwedicks, a mortal
enemy of our Church and the instigator of the
terrible persecutions to which the Roman Catholics
were subjected, was carried off into exile at the re-
quest of the Jesuits by a French vessel, and confined
in a prison whence there zvas no escape. This prison
was the fortress of Sainte-Marguerite, and from
there he zvas taken to the Bastille, zvhere he died.
The Turkish Government continually clamoured for
his release till 1723, but the French Government per-
sistently denied having taken any part in the abduc-
tion.

Even if it were not a matter of history that
Arwedicks went over to the Roman Catholic Church
and died a free man in Paris, as may be seen by
an inspection of the certificate of his death pre-

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served among the archives in the Foreign Office,
one sentence from the note-book of M. de Bonac
would be sufficient to annihilate this theory. M.
de Bonac says that the Patriarch was carried off,
while M. de Feriol, who succeeded M. de Chateau-
neuf in 1699, was ambassador at Constantinople.
Now it was in 1698 that Saint-Mars arrived at the
Bastille with his masked prisoner.

Several English scholars have sided with Gibbon
in thinking that the Man in the Iron Mask might
possibly have been Henry, the second son of Oliver
Cromwell, who was held as a hostage by Louis xiv.

By an odd coincidence the second son of the Lord
Protector does entirely disappear from the page
of history in 1659; we know nothing of where he
afterwards lived nor when he died. But why
should he be a prisoner of state in France, while his
elder brother Richard was permitted to live there
quite openly? In the absence of all proof, we
cannot attach the least importance to this explana-
tion of the mystery.

We now come to the promised extracts from the
Menioires du Marcchal de Richelieu : —

" Under the late king there was a time when
every class of society was asking who the famous
personage really was who went by the name of the
Iron Mask, but I noticed that this curiosity abated

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somewhat after his arrival at the Bastille with
Saint-Mars, when it began to be reported that
orders had been given to kill him should he let his
name be known. Saint-Mars also let it be under-
stood that whoever found out the secret would
share the same fate. This threat to murder both
the prisoner and those who showed too much curi-
osity about him made such an impression, that
during the lifetime of the late king people only
spoke of the mystery below their breath. The
anonymous author of Les Mcmoires de Perse,
which were published in Holland fifteen years after
the death of Louis xiv, was the first who dared to
speak publicly of the prisoner and relate some anec-
dotes about him.

" Since the publication of that work, liberty of
speech and the freedom of the press have made
great strides, and the shade of Louis xiv having lost
its terrors, the case of the Iron Mask is freely dis-
cussed, and yet even now, at the end of my life and
seventy years after the death of the king, people
are still asking who the Man in the Iron Mask
really was.

" This question was one I put to the adorable
princess, beloved of the regent, who inspired in
return only aversion and respect, all her love being
given to me. As everyone was persuaded that the
regent knew the name, the course of life, and the

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cause of the imprisonment of the masked prisoner,
I, being more venturesome in my curiosity than
others, tried through my princess to fathom the
secret. She had hitherto constantly repulsed the
advances of the Due d' Orleans, but as the ardour
of his passion was thereby in no wise abated, the
least glimpse of hope would be sufficient to induce
him to grant her everything she asked ; I persuaded
her, therefore, to let him understand that if he
would allow her to read the Memoires dn Masque
which were in his possession his dearest desires
would be fulfilled.

" The Due d'Orleans had never been known to
reveal any secret of state, being unspeakably cir-
cumspect, and having been trained to keep every
confidence inviolable by his preceptor Dubois, so I
felt quite certain that even the princess would fail
in her efforts to get a sight of the memoranda in
his possession relative to the birth and rank of the
masked prisoner; but what cannot love, and such
an ardent love, induce a man to do ?

• •••••••

" To reward her goodness the regent gave the
documents into her hands, and she forwarded them
to me next day, enclosed in a note written in cipher,
which, according to the laws of historical writing,
I reproduce in its entirety, vouching for its authen-
ticity; for the princess always employed a cipher

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THE MAN IN THE IRON MASK

when she used the language of gallantry, and this
note told me what treaty she had had to sign in
order that she might obtain the documents, and the
duke the desire of his heart. The details are not
admissible in serious history, but, borrowing the
modest language of the patriarchal time, I may say
that if Jacob, before he obtained possession of the
best beloved of Laban's daughters, was obliged to
pay tlie price twice over, the regent drove a better
bargain than the patriarch. The note and the
memorandum were as follows: —

" '2. I. 17. 12. 9. 2. 20. 2. I, 7. 14.

20. 10. 3. 21. I. II. 14. I, 15. 16. 12.

17. 14. 2. I. 21. II. 20. 17. 12. 9. 14.

9. 2. 8. 20. 5. 20. 2. 2. 17. 8. I. 2. 20.

9. 21. 21. I. 5. 12. 17. 15. 00. 14. I. 15.

14. 12. 9. 21. 5. 12. 9. 21. 16. 20. 14.
8. 3.

" 'Narrative of the Birth and Education of
THE Unfortunate Prince who was Sep-
arated FROM THE World by Cardinals
Richelieu and Mazarin and Imprisoned
BY Order of Louis XIV.

"" 'Drawn up by the Governor of this Prince on
his deathbed.

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" *The unfortunate prince whom I brought up
and had in charge till almost the end of my life was
born on the 5th September 1638 at 8.30 o'clock
in the evening, while the king was at supper. His
brother, who is now on the throne, was born at
noon while the king was at dinner, but whereas his
birth was splendid and public, that of his brother
was sad and secret; for the king being informed
by the midwife that the queen was about to give
birth to a second child, ordered the chancellor, the
midwife, the chief almoner, the queen's confessor,
and myself to stay in her room to be witnesses of
whatever happened, and of his course of action
should a second child be born.

" 'For a long time already it had been foretold
to the king that his wife would give birth to two
sons, and some days before, certain shepherds had
arrived in Paris, saying they were divinely inspired,
so that it was said in Paris that if two dauphins
were born it would be the greatest misfortune
which could happen to the State. The Archbishop
of Paris summoned these soothsayers before him,
and ordered them to be imprisoned in Saint-Lazare,
because the populace was becoming excited about
them — a circumstance which filled the king with
care, as he foresaw much trouble to his kingdom.
What had been predicted by the soothsayers hap-
pened, whether they had really been warned by the

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THE MAN IN THE IRON MASK

constellations, or whether Providence by whom His
Majesty had been warned of the calamities which
might happen to France interposed. The king had
sent a messenger to the cardinal to tell him of this
prophecy, and the cardinal had replied that the
matter must be considered, that the birth of two
dauphins was not impossible, and should such a
case arrive, the second must be carefully hidden
away, lest in the future desiring to be king he
should fight against his brother in support of a new
branch of the royal house, and come at last to reign.
" 'The king in his suspense felt very uncom-
fortable, and as the queen began to utter cries we
feared a second confinement. We sent to inform
the king, who was almost overcome by the thought
that he was about to become the father of two
dauphins. He said to the Bishop of Meaux, whom
he had sent for to minister to the queen, " Do not
quit my wife till she is safe; I am in mortal terror."
Immediately after he summoned us all, the Bishop
of Meaux, the chancellor M. Honorat, Dame
Peronete the midwife, and myself, and said to us
in presence of the queen, so that she could hear,
that we would answer to him with our heads if
we made known the birth of a second dauphin;
that it was his will that the fact should remain a
state secret, to prevent the misfortunes which would
else happen, the Salic Law not having declared to

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whom the inheritance of the kingdom should come
in case two eldest sons were born to any of the
kings.

" 'What had been foretold happened : the queen,
while the king was at supper, gave birth to a second
dauphin, more dainty and more beautiful than the
first, but who wept and wailed unceasingly, as if
he regretted to take up that life in which he was
afterwards to endure such suffering. The chan-
cellor drew up the report of this wonderful birth,
without parallel in our history; but His Majesty
not being pleased with its form, burned it in our
presence, and the chancellor had to write and
rewrite till His Majesty was satisfied. The almoner
remonstrated, saying it would be impossible to hide
the birth of a prince, but the king returned that he
had reasons of state for all he did.

" 'Afterwards the king made us register our
oath, the chancellor signing it first, then the queen's
confessor, and I last. The oath was also signed
by the surgeon and midwife who attended on the
queen, and the king attached this document to the
report, taking both away with him, and I never
heard any more of either. I remember that His
Majesty consulted with the chancellor as to the
form of the oath, and that he spoke for a long time
in an undertone to the cardinal: after which the
last-born child was given into the charge of the

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midwife, and as they were always afraid she would
babble about his birth, she has told me that they
often threatened her with death should she ever
mention it: we were also forbidden to speak, even
to each otlier, of the child whose birth we had
witnessed.

" 'Not one of us has as yet violated his oath ; for
His Majesty dreaded nothing so much as a civil
war brought about by the two children born
together, and the cardinal, who afterwards got the
care of the second child into his hands, kept that
fear alive. The king also commanded us to exam-
ine the unfortunate prince minutely; he had a wart
above the left elbow, a mole on the right side of
his neck, and a tiny wart on his right thigh; for
His Majesty was determined, and rightly so, that
in case of the decease of the first-born, the royal
infant whom he was entrusting to our care should
take his place; wherefore he required our sign-
manual to the report of the birth, to which a small
royal seal was attached in our presence, and we all
signed it after His Majesty, according as he com-
manded. As to the shepherds who had foretold the
double birth, never did I hear another word of
them, but neither did I inquire. The cardinal who
took the mysterious infant in charge probably got
them out of the country.

" 'All through the infancy of the second prince
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Dame Peronete treated him as if he were her own
child, giving out that his father was a great noble-
man ; for everyone saw by the care she lavished on
him and the expense she went to, that although
unacknowledged he was the cherished son of rich
parents, and well cared for.

" 'When the prince began to grow up, Cardinal
Mazarin, who succeeded Cardinal Richelieu in the
charge of the prince's education, gave him into my
hands to bring up in a manner worthy of a king's
son, but in secret. Dame Peronete continued in his
service till her death, and was very much attached
to him, and he still more to her. The prince was
instructed in my house in Burgundy, with all the
care due to the son and brother of a king.

" 'I had several conversations with the queen
mother during the troubles in France, and Her
Majesty always seemed to fear that if the existence
of the prince should be discovered during the life-
time of his brother, the young king, malcontents
would make it a pretext for rebellion, because many
medical men hold that the last-born of twins is in
reality the elder, and if so, he was king by right,
while many others have a different opinion.

" *In spite of this dread, the queen could never
bring herself to destroy the written evidence of his
birth, because in case of the death of the young king
she intended to have his twin-brother proclaimed.

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She told me often that the written proofs were in
her strong box.

" 'I gave the ill-starred prince such an education
as I should have liked to receive myself, and no
acknowledged son of a king ever had a better. The
only thing for which I have to reproach myself is
that, without intending it, I caused him great unhap-
piness ; for when he was nineteen years old he had
a burning desire to know who he was, and as he
saw that I was determined to be silent, growing
more firm the more he tormented me with questions,
he made up his mind henceforward to disguise his
curiosity and to make me think that he believed him-
self a love-child of my own. He began to call me
* father,' although when we were alone I often
assured him that he was mistaken; but at length I
gave up combating this belief, which he perhaps
only feigned to make me speak, and allowed him to
think he was my son, contradicting him no more;
but while he continued to dwell on this subject he
was meantime making every effort to find out who
he really was. Two years passed thus, when,
through an unfortunate piece of forgetfulness on
my part, for which I greatly blame myself, he be-
came acquainted with the truth. He knew that the
king had lately sent me several messengers, and
once having carelessly forgotten to lock up a casket
containing letters from the queen and the cardinals,

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he read part and divined the rest through his natural
intelligence; and later confessed to me that he had
carried off the letter which told most explicitly of
his birth.

" *I can recall that from this time on, his manner
to me showed no longer that respect for me in which
I had brought him up, but became hectoring and
rude, and that I could not imagine the reason of the
change, for I never found out that he had searched
my papers, and he never revealed to me how he got
at the casket, whether he was aided by some work-
men whom he did not wish to betray, or had em-
ployed other means.

" 'One day, however, he unguardedly asked me
to show him the portraits of the late and the present
Icing. I answered that those that existed were so
poor that I was waiting till better ones were taken
before having them in my house.

" 'This answer, which did not satisfy him, called
forth the request to be allowed to go to Dijon. I
found out afterwards that he wanted to see a por-
trait of the king which was there, and to get to the
court, which was just then at Saint- Jean-de-Luz,
because of the approaching marriage with the in-
fanta; so that he might compare himself with his
brother and see if there were any resemblance be-
tween them. Having knowledge of his plan, I never
let him out of my sight.

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" 'The young prince was at this time as beautiful
as Cupid, and through the intervention of Cupid
himself he succeeded in getting hold of a portrait
of his brother. One of the upper servants of the
house, a young girl, had taken his fancy, and he
lavished such caresses on her and inspired her with
so much love, that although the whole household
was strictly forbidden to give him anything without
my permission, she procured him a portrait of the
king. The unhappy prince saw the likeness at once,
indeed no one could help seeing it, for the one por-
trait would serve equally well for either brother,
and the sight produced such a fit of fury that he
came to me crying out, " There is my brother, and
this tells me who I am ! " holding out a letter from
Cardinal Mazarin which he had stolen from me, and
making a great commotion in my house.

" 'The dread lest the prince should escape and suc-
ceed in appearing at the marriage of his brother
made me so uneasy, that I sent off a messenger to
the king to tell him that my casket had been opened,
and asking for instructions. The king sent back
word through the cardinal that we were both to be
shut up till further orders, and that the prince was
to be made to understand that the cause of our
common misfortune was his absurd claim. I have
since shared his prison, but I believe that a decree
of release has arrived from my heavenly Judge, and

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for my soul's health and for my ward's sake I make
this declaration, that he may know what measures
to take in order to put an end to his ignominious
estate should the king die without children. Can
any oath imposed under threats oblige one to be
silent about such incredible events, which it is never-
theless necessary that posterity should know ?' "

Such were the contents of the historical document
given by the regent to the princess, and it suggests a
crowd of questions. Who was the prince's gov-
ernor? Was he a Burgundian? Was he simply a
landed proprietor, with some property and a coun-
try house in Burgundy? How far was his estate
from Dijon ? He must have been a man of note, for
he enjoyed the most intimate confidence at the court
of Louis xiii^ either by virtue of his office or because
he was a favourite of the king, the queen, and
Cardinal Richelieu. Can we learn from the list of
the nobles of Burgundy what member of their body
disappeared from public life along with a young
ward whom he had brought up in his own house
just after the marriage of Louis xiv ? Why did he
not attach his signature to the declaration, which
appears to be a hundred years old? Did he dictate
it when so near death that he had not strength to
sign it? How did it find its way out of prison?
And so forth.

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THE MAN IN THE IRON MASK

There is no answer to all these questions, and I,
for my part, cannot undertake to affirm that the
document is genuine. Abbe Soulavie relates that
he one day " pressed the marshal for an answer to
some questions on the matter, asking, amongst other
things, if it were not true that the prisoner was an
elder brother of Louis xiv born without the knowl-
edge of Louis XIII. The marshal appeared very
much embarrassed, and although he did not entirely
refuse to answer, what he said was not very explan-
atory. He averred that this important personage
was neither the illegitimate brother of Louis xiv,
nor the Duke of Monmouth, nor the Comte de Ver-
mandois, nor the Due de Beaufort, and so on, as so
many writers had asserted." He called all their
writings mere inventions, but added that almost
every one of them had got hold of some true inci-
dents, as for instance the order to kill the prisoner
should he make himself known. Finally he ac-
knowledged that he knew the state secret, and used
the following words : " All that I can tell you, abbe,
is, that when the prisoner died at the beginning of
the century, at a very advanced age, he had ceased
to be of such importance as when, at the beginning
of his reign, Louis xiv shut him up for weighty
reasons of state."

The above was written down under the eyes of
the marshal, and when Abbe Soulavie entreated him

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to say something further which, while not actually
revealing the secret, would yet satisfy his question-
er's curiosity, the marshal answered, " Read M. de
Voltaire's latest writings on the subject, especially
his concluding words, and reflect on them."

With the exception of Dulaure, all the critics have
treated Soulavie's narrative with the most profound
contempt, and we must confess that if it was an
invention it was a monstrous one, and that the con-
coction of the famous note in cipher was abomin-
able. ** Such was the great secret ; in order to find
it out, I had to allow myself 5, 12, 17, 15, 14, i,
three times by 8, 3." But unfortunately for those
who would defend the morals of Mademoiselle de
Valois, it would be difficult to traduce the character
of herself, her lover, and her father, for what one
knows of the trio justifies one in believing that the
more infamous the conduct imputed to them, the
more likely it is to be true. We cannot see the force
of the objection that Louvois would not have writ-
ten in the following terms to Saint-Mars in 1687
about a bastard son of Anne of Austria : " I see no
objection to your removing Chevalier de Thezut
from the prison in which he is confined, and putting
your prisoner there till the one you are preparing
for him is ready to receive him." And we cannot
understand those who ask if Saint-Mars, following
the example of the minister, would have said of a

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THE MAN IN THE IRON MASK

prince ** Until he is installed in the prison which is
being- prepared for him here, which has a chapel
adjoining " ? Why should he have expressed him-
self otherwise? Does it evidence an abatement of
consideration to call a prisoner a prisoner, and his
prison a prison?

A certain M. de Saint-Mihiel published an Svo
volume in 1791, at Strasbourg and Paris, entitled
Le veritable homme, dit au Masque de fer, ouvrage
dans Icqucl on fait connaitre, siir preuves incontcst-
ahlcs, a qui le cclchre infortunc diit le jour, quand
et on il naquit. The wording of the title will give
an idea of the bizarre and barbarous jargon in
which the whole book is written. It would be diffi-
cult to imagine the vanity and self-satisfaction
which inspire tliis new reader of riddles. If he
had found the philosopher's stone, or made a dis-
covery which would transform the world, he could
not exhibit more pride and pleasure. All things
considered, the " incontestable proofs " of his theory
do not decide the question definitely, or place it
above all attempts at refutation, any more than does
the evidence on which the other theories which pre-
ceded and followed his rest. But what he lacks
before all other things is the talent for arranging
and using his materials. With the most ordinary
skill he might have evolved a theory which would
have defied criticism at least as successfully as the
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CELEBRATED CRIMES

others, and he might have supported it by proofs,
which if not incontestable (for no one has produced
such), had at least moral presumption in their
favour, which has great weight in such a mys-
terious and obscure affair, in trying to explain,
which one can never leave on one side, the respect
shown by Louvois to the prisoner, to whom he al-
ways spoke standing and with uncovered head.

According to M. de Saint-Mihiel, the Man in the
Iron Mask was a legitimate son of Anne of Austria
and Mamrin.

He avers that Mazarin was only a deacon, and
not a priest, when he became cardinal, having never
taken priest's orders, according to the testimony
of the Princess Palatine, consort of Philip i, Due
d'Orleans, and that it was therefore possible for
him to marry, and that he did marry, Anne of Aus-
tria in secret.

" Old Madame Beauvais, principal woman of the
bed-chamber to the queen mother, knew of this
ridiculous marriage, and as the price of her secrecy
obliged the queen to comply with all her whims.
To this circumstance the principal bed-chamber
women owe the extensive privileges accorded them
ever since in this country " (Letter of the Duchesse
d'Orleans, 13th September 1713).

** The queen mother, consort of Louis xiii, had
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THE MAN IN THE IRON MASK

done worse than simply to fall in love with Mazarin,
she had married him, for he had never been an
ordained priest, he had only taken deacon's orders.
If he had been a priest his marriage would have
been impossible. He grew terribly tired of the good
queen mother, and did not live happily with her,
which was only what he deserved for making such
a marriage " (Letter of the Duchesse d'Orleans,
2nd November 171 7).

" She (the queen mother) was quite easy in her
conscience about Cardinal Mazarin; he was not in
priest's orders, and so could marry. The secret
passage by which he reached the queen's rooms
every evening still exists in the Palais Royal " (Let-
ter of the Duchesse d'Orleans, 2nd July 171 9).

" The queen's manner of conducting affairs is
influenced by the passion which dominates her.
When she and the cardinal converse together, their
ardent love for each other is betrayed by their looks
and gestures; it is plain to see that when obliged to
part for a time they do it with great reluctance. If
what people say is true, that they are properly mar-
ried, and that their union has been blessed by Pere
Vincent the missioner, there is no harm in all that
goes on between them, either in public or in pri-
vate " (Requete civile contre la Conclusion de la
Paix, 1649).

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The Man in the Iron Mask told the apothecary
in the Bastille that he thought he was about sixty
years of age (Questions siir I' Ency do pedie). Thus
he must have been born in 1644, just at the time
when Anne of Austria was invested with the royal
power, though it was really exercised by Mazarin.

Can we find any incident recorded in history
which lends support to the supposition that Anne of
Austria had a son whose birth was kept as secret
as her marriage to Mazarin?

" In 1644, Anne of Austria being dissatisfied witK
her apartments in the Louvre, moved to the Palais
Royal, which had been left to the king by Richelieu.
Shortly after taking up residence there she was very
ill with a severe attack of jaundice, which was
caused, in the opinion of the doctors, by worry,
anxiety, and overwork, and which pulled her down
greatly " (Memoire de Madame de Motteville, 4
vols. i2mo, vol. i. p. 194).

" This anxiety, caused by the pressure of public
business, was most probably only dwelt on as a pre-
text for a pretended attack of illness. Anne of
Austria had no cause for worry and anxiety till
1649. She did not begin to complain of the des-
potism of Mazarin till towards the end of 1645 **
(Ibid., vol. i. pp. 2^2, 273).

" She went frequently to the theatre during her
first year of widowhood, but took care to hide her-

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THE MAN IN THE IRON MASK

self from view in her box " {Ibid., vol. i. p. 342).

Abbe Soulavie, in vol. vi. of the Memoires de
Richelieu, published in 1793, controverted the opin-
ions of M. de Saint-Mihiel, and again advanced
those which he had published some time before,
supporting them by a new array of reasons.

The fruitlessness of research in the archives of
the Bastille, and the importance of the political
events which were happening, diverted the attention
of the public for some years from this subject. In
the year 1800, however, the Magazin encyclo-
pediqiie published (vol. vi. p. 472) an article en-
titled Memoires sur Ics Problemes historiques, et la
Methode de les resoudre appliquee a cehii qui con-
cerne V Homme au Masque de Per, signed C. D. O.,
in which the author maintained that the prisoner
was the first minister of the Duke of Mantua, and
says his name was Girolamo Magni.

In the same year an octavo volume of 142 pages
was produced by M. Roux-Fazillac. It bore the
title Recherches historiques et critiques sur V Homme
au Masque de Per, d'ou residtcnt des Notions cer-
taines sur ce prisonnier. These researches brought
to light a secret correspondence relative to certain
negotiations and intrigues, and to the abduction of a
secretary of the Duke of Mantua whose name was
Matthioli, and not Girolamo Magni.

2027

CELEBRATED CRIMES

In 1802 an octavo pamphlet containing 11 pages,
of which the author was perhaps Baron Lerviere,
but which was signed Reth, was pubHshed. It took
the form of a letter to General Jourdan, and was
dated from Turin, and gave many details about
Matthioli and his family. It was entitled Veritable
Clef de I'Histoire de I' Homme au Masque de Fer.
It proved that the secretary of the Duke of Mantua
was carried off, masked, and imprisoned, by order
of Louis XIV in 1679, but it did not succeed in estab-
lishing as an undoubted fact that the secretary and
the Man in the Iron Mask were one and the same
person.

It may be remembered that M. Crawfurd writing
in 1798 had said in his Histoire de la Bastille (8vo,
474 P^g^s), " I cannot doubt that the Man in the
Iron Mask was the son of Anne of Austria, but am
unable to decide whether he was a twin-brother of
Louis XIV or was born while the king and queen
lived apart, or during her widowhood." M. Craw-
furd, in his Melanges d'Histoire et de Litteratiire
tires d'lin Portefeuille (quarto 1809, octavo 1817),
demolished the theory advanced by Roux-Fazillac.

In 1825, Al. Delort discovered in the archives sev-
eral letters relating to Matthioli, and published his
Histoire de V Homme au Masque de Fer (8vo).
This work was translated into English by George
Agar-EUis, and retranslated into French in 1830,

2028

THE MAN IN THE IRON MASK

under the title Histoire mithcntiqiie dii Prisonnier
d'Etat, connn sous le Nom dc Masque de Fcr. It
is in this work that the suggestion is made that the
captive was the second son of Ohver Cromwell.

In 1826, M. de Taules wrote that, in his opinion,
the masked prisoner was none other than the
Armenian Patriarch, But six years later the great
success of my drama at the Odeon converted nearly
everyone to the version of which Soulavie was the
chief exponent. The bibliophile Jacob is mistaken
in asserting that I followed a tradition preserved in
the family of the Due de Choiseul; M. le Due de
Bassano sent me a copy made under his personal
supervision of a document drawn up for Napoleon,
containing the results of some researches made by
his orders on the subject of the Man in the Iroo
Mask. The original MS., as well as that of the
Memoir cs dn Due de Richelieu, were, the duke told
me, kept at the Foreign Office. In 1834 the Journal
of the Institut historique published a letter from M.
Auguste Billiard, who stated that he had also made
a copy of this document for the late Comte de
Montalivet, Home Secretary under the Empire.

M. Dufey (de I'Yonne) gave his Histoire de la
Bastille to the world in the same year, and was in-
clined to believe that the prisoner was a son of
Buckingham.

Besides the many important personages on whom
2029

CELEBRATED CRIMES

the famous mask had been placed, there was one
whom everyone had forgotten, although his name
had been put forward by the minister Chamillart:
this was the celebrated Superintendent of Finance,
Nicolas Fouquet. In 1837, Jacob, armed with docu-
ments and extracts, once more occupied himself
with this Chinese puzzle on which so much ingenuity
had been lavished, but of which no one had as yet
got all the pieces into their places. Let us see if he
succeeded better than his forerunners.

The first feeling he awakes is one of surprise.
It seems odd that he should again bring up the case
of Fouquet, who was condemned to imprisonment
for life in 1664, confined in Pignerol under the care
of Saint-Mars, and whose death was announced
(falsely according to Jacob) on March 23rd, 1680.
The first thing to look for in trying to get at the
true history of the Mask is a sufficient reason of
state to account for the persistent concealment of
the prisoner's features till his death; and next, an
explanation of the respect shown him by Louvois,
whose attitude towards him would have been ex-
traordinary in any age, but was doubly so during
the reign of Louis xiv^ whose courtiers would have
been the last persons in the world to render homage
to the misfortunes of a man in disgrace with their
master. Whatever the real motive of the king's
anger against Fouquet may have been, whether

2030

THE MAN IN THE IRON MASK

Louis thought he arrogated to himself too much
power, or aspired to rival his master in the hearts
of some of the king's mistresses, or even presumed
to raise his eyes higher still, was not the utter ruin,
the lifelong captivity, of his enemy enough to sati-
ate the vengeance of the king? What could he de-
sire more? Why should his anger, which seemed
slaked in 1664, burst forth into hotter flames seven-
teen years later, and lead him to inflict a new punish-
ment ? According to the bibliophile, the king being
wearied by the continual petitions for pardon ad-
dressed to him by the superintendent's family, or-
dered them to be told that he was dead, to rid him-
self of their supplications. Colbert's hatred, says
he, was the immediate cause of Fouquet's fall; but
even if this hatred hastened the catastrophe, are we
to suppose that it pursued the delinquent beyond
the sentence, through the long years of captivity,
and, renewing its energy, infected the minds of the
king and his councillors? If that were so, how
shall we explain the respect shown by Louvois?
Colbert would not have stood uncovered before
Fouquet in prison. Why should Colbert's colleague
have done so?

It must, however, be confessed that of all existing
theories, this one, thanks to the unlimited learning
and research of the bibliophile, has the greatest
number of documents with the various interpreta-

2031

CELEBRATED CRIMES

tions thereof, the greatest profusion of dates, on
its side.

For it is certain —

I St, that the precautions taken when Fouquet was
sent to Pignerol resembled in every respect those
employed later by the custodians of the Iron Mask,
both at the lies Sainte-Marguerite and at the Bas-
tille ;

2nd, that the majority of the traditions relative
to the masked prisoner might apply to Fouquet ;

3rd, that the Iron Mask was first heard of imme-
diately after the announcement of the death of
Fouquet in 1680;

4th, that there exists no irrefragable proof that
Fouquet's death really occurred in the above year.

The decree of the Court of Justice, dated 20th
December 1664, banished Fouquet from the king-
dom for life. " But the king was of the opinion
that it would be dangerous to let the said Fouquet
leave the country, in consideration of his intimate
knowledge of the most important matters of state.
Consequently the sentence of perpetual banishment
was commuted into that of perpetual imprisonment "
(Receitil des defenses de M. Fouquet). The in-
structions signed by the king and remitted to Saint-
Mars forbid him to permit Fouquet to hold any

2032

THE MAN IN THE IRON MASK

Spoken or written communication with anyone what-
soever, or to leave his apartments for any cause,
not even for exercise. The great mistrust felt by
Louvois pervades all his letters to Saint-Mars. The
precautions which he ordered to be kept up were
quite as stringent as in the case of the Iron Mask.

The report of the discovery of a shirt covered
with writing, by a friar, which Abbe Papon men-
tions, may perhaps be traced to the following ex-
tracts from two letters written by Louvois to Saint-
Mars : " Your letter has come to hand with the new
handkerchief on which M. Fouquet has written "
(i8th Dec. 1665) ; "You can tell him that if he
continues to employ his table-linen as note-paper he
must not be surprised if you refuse to supply him
with any more" (21st Nov. 1667).

Pere Papon asserts that a valet who served the
masked prisoner died in his master's room. Now
the man who waited on Fouquet, and who like him
was sentenced to lifelong imprisonment, died in
February 1680 (see letter of Louvois to Saint-Mars,
I2th March 1680). Echoes of incidents which
took place at Pignerol might have reached the ties
Sainte-Marguerite when Saint-Mars transferred his
" former prisoner " from one fortress to the other.
The fine clothes and linen, the books, all those lux-
uries in fact that were lavished on the masked pris-
oner, were not withheld from Fouquet. The

2033

CELEBRATED CRIMES

furniture of a second room at Plgnerol cost over
1200 livres (see letters of Louvois, 12th Dec. 1665,
and 22nd Feb. 1666).

It is also known that until the year 1680 Saint-
Mars had only two important prisoners at Pignerol,
Fouquet and Lauzun. However, his " former pris-
oner of Pignerol," according to Du Junca's diary,
must have reached the latter fortress before the
end of August 1681, when Saint-Mars went to Ex-
illes as governor. So that it was in the interval
between the 23rd March 1680, the alleged date of
Fouquet's death, and the ist September 1681, that
the Iron Mask appeared at Pignerol, and yet Saint-
Mars took only two prisoners to Exilles. One of
these was probably the Man in the Iron Mask; the
other, who must have been Matthioli, died before
the year 1687, for when Saint-Mars took over the
governorship in the month of January of that year
of the lies Sainte-Marguerite he brought only one
prisoner thither with him. ** I have taken such good
measures to guard my prisoner that I can answer
to you for his safety " (Lettres de Saint-Mars a
Louvois, 20th January 1687).

In the correspondence of Louvois with Saint-
Mars we find, it is true, mention of the death of
Fouquet on March 23rd, 1680, but in his later
correspondence Louvois never says " the late M.
Fouquet," but speaks of him, as usual, as " M. Fou-

2034

THE MAN IN THE IRON MASK

quet " simply. Most historians have given as a
fact that Fouquet was interred in the same vault
as his father in the chapel of Saint-Franqois de Sales
in the convent church belonging to the Sisters of
the Order of the Visitation-Sainte-Marie, founded
in the beginning of the seventeenth century by Ma-
dame de Chantal. But proof to the contrary exists ;
for the subterranean portion of St. Francis's chapel
was closed in 1786, the last person interred there
being Adelaide Felicite Brulard, with whom ended
the house of Sillery. The convent was shut up in
1790, and the church given over to the Protestants
in 1S02; who continued to respect the tombs. In
1836 the Cathedral chapter of Bourges claimed the
remains of one of their archbishops buried there
in the time of the Sisters of Sainte-Marie. On this
occasion all the coffins were examined and all the
inscriptions carefully copied, but the name of Nico-
las Fouquet is absent.

Voltaire says in his Dictionnaire philosophique,
article " Ana," " It is most remarkable that no one
knows where the celebrated Fouquet was buried."

But in spite of all these coincidences, this care-
fully constructed theory was wrecked on the same
point on which the theory that the prisoner was
either the Duke of Monmouth or the Comte de Ver-
mandois came to grief, viz. a letter from Barbe-
zieux, dated 13th August 1691, in which occur the

2035

CELEBRATED CRIMES

words, " The prisoner whom you have had in"
CHARGE FOR TWENTY YEARS." According to this
testimony, which Jacob had successfully used
against his predecessors, the prisoner referred to
could not have been Fouquet, who completed his
twenty-seventh year of captivity in 1691, if still
alive.

We have now impartially set before our readers
all the opinions which have been held in regard to
the solution of this formidable enigma. For our-
selves, we hold the belief that the Man in the Iron
Mask stood on the steps of the throne. Although
the mystery cannot be said to be definitely cleared
up, one thing stands out firmly established among
the mass of conjecture we have collected together,
and that is, that wherever the prisoner appeared he
was ordered to wear a mask on pain of death. His
features, therefore, might during half a century
have brought about his recognition from one end of
France to the other; consequently, during the same
space of time there existed in France a face resem-
bling the prisoner's known through all her prov-
inces, even to her most secluded isle.

Whose face could this be, if not that of Louis
XIV, twin-brother of the Man in the Iron Mask?

To nullify this simple and natural conclusion
strong evidence will be required.

Our task has been limited to that of an examining
2036

THE MAN IN THE IRON MASK

judge at a trial, and we feel sure that our readers
will not be sorry that we have left them to choose
amid all the conflicting explanations of the puzzle.
No consistent narrative that we might have con-
cocted would, it seems to us, have been half as
interesting to them as to allow them to follow the
devious paths opened up by those who entered on
the search for the heart of the mystery. Everything
connected with the masked prisoner arouses the
most vivid curiosity. And what end had we in
view? Was it not to denounce a crime and to
brand the perpetrator thereof? The facts as they
stand are sufficient for our object, and speak more
eloquently than if used to adorn a tale or to prove
an ingenious theory.

2037

MARTIN GUERRE

MARTIN GUERRE

WE are sometimes astonished at the striking
resemblance existing between two persons
who are absolute strangers to each other, but in fact
it is the opposite which ought to surprise us. In-
deed, w^hy should we not rather admire a Creative
Power so infinite in its variety that it never ceases
to produce entirely different combinations with pre-
cisely the same elements ? The more one considers
this prodigious versatility of form, the more over-
whelming it appears.

To begin with, each nation has its own distinct
and characteristic type, separating it from other
races of men. Thus there are the English, Spanish,
German, or Slavonic types; again, in each nation
we find families distinguished from each other by
less general but still well-pronounced features; and
lastly, the individuals of each family, differing again
in more or less marked gradations. What a multi-
tude of physiognomies! What variety of impres-
sion from the innumerable stamps of the human
countenance! What millions of models and no
copies! Considering this ever changing spectacle,

2041 Dumas— Vol. G— I

CELEBRATED CRIMES

which ought to inspire us with most astonishment
— the perpetual difference of faces or the accidental
resemblance of a few individuals? Is it impossible
that in the whole wide world there should be found
by chance two people whose features are cast in one
and the same mould? Certainly not; therefore that
s which ought to surprise us is not that these dupli-
cates exist here and there upon the earth, but that
they are to be met with in the same place, and
appear together before our eyes, little accustomed
to see such resemblances. From Amphitryon down
to our own days, many fables have owed their origin
to this fact, and history also has provided a few
examples, such as the false Demetrius in Russia,
the English Perkin Warbeck, and several other
celebrated impostors, whilst the story we now pre-
sent to our readers is no less curious and strange.

On the loth of August 1557, an inauspicious
day in the history of France, the roar of cannon
was still heard at six in the evening in the plains of
St. Quentin ; where the French army had just been
destroyed by the united troops of England and
Spain, commanded by the famous Captain Emanuel
Philibert, Duke of Savoy. An utterly beaten
infantry, the Constable Montmorency and several
generals taken prisoner, the Duke d'Enghien mor-
tally wounded, the flower of the nobility cut down
like grass, — such were the terrible results of a bat-

2042

MARTIN GUERRE

tie which phinged France into mourning, and which
would have been a blot on the reign of Henry ii,
had not the Duke of Guise obtained a brilliant
revenge the following year.

In a little village less than a mile from the field
of battle were to be heard the groans of the wounded
and dying, who had been carried thither from the
field of battle. The inhabitants had given up their
houses to be used as hospitals, and two or three
barber surgeons went hither and thither, hastily
ordering operations which they left to their assist-
ants, and driving out fugitives who had contrived
to accompany the wounded under pretence of assist-
ing friends or near relations. They had already
expelled a good number of these poor fellows, when,
opening the door of a small room, they found a
soldier soaked in blood lying on a rough mat, and
another soldier aparently attending on him with
the utmost care.

"Who are you?" said one of the surgeons to
the sufferer. " I don't think you belong to our
French troops."

"Help!" cried the soldier, "only help me! and
may God bless you for it! "

" From the colour of that tunic," remarked the
other surgeon, " I should wager the rascal belongs
to some Spanish gentleman. By what blunder was
he brought here ? "

2043

CELEBRATED CRIMES

" For pity's sake ! " murmured the poor fellow :
" I am in such pain."

" Die, wretch! " responded the last speaker, push-
ing him with his foot. " Die, like the dog you
are!"

But this brutality, answered as it was by an agon-
ised groan, disgusted the other surgeon.

" After all, he is a man, and a wounded man who
implores help. Leave him to me, Rene."

Rene went out grumbling, and the one who
remained proceeded to examine the wound. A ter-
rible arquebus-shot had passed through the leg,
shattering the bone: amputation was absolutely
necessary.

Before proceeding to the operation, the surgeon
turned to the other soldier, who had retired into the
darkest corner of the room.

" And you, who may you be ? " he asked.

The man replied by coming forward into the
light : no other answer was needed. He resembled
his companion so closely that no one could doubt
they were brothers — twin brothers, probably. Both
were above middle height ; both had olive-brown
complexions, black eyes, hooked noses, pointed
chins, a slightly projecting lower lip; both were
round-shouldered, though this defect did not
amount to disfigurement : the whole personality
suggested strength, and was not destitute of mas-

2044

MARTIN GUERRE

culine beauty. So strong a likeness is hardly ever
seen; even their ages appeared to agree, for one
would not have supposed either to be more than
thirty-two; and the only difference noticeable, be-
sides the pale countenance of the wounded man,
was that he was thin as compared with the moderate
fleshiness of the other, also that he had a large scar
over the right eyebrow.

" Look well after your brother's soul," said the
surgeon to the soldier, who remained standing; " if
it is in no better case than his body, it is much to
be pitied."

" Is there no hope ? " inquired the Sosia of the
wounded man.

"The wound is too large and too deep," replied
the man of science, " to be cauterised with boiling
oil, according to the ancient method. ' Delenda est
causa mali,' the source of evil must be destroyed,
as says the learned Ambrose Pare; I ought there-
fore * secareferro,' — that is to say, take off the
leg. May God grant that he survive the opera-
tion! "

While seeking his instruments, he looked the
supposed brother full in the face, and added —

" But how is it that you are carrying muskets in
opposing armies, for I see that you belong to us,
while this poor fellow wears Spanish uniform? "

" Oh, that would be a long story to tell," replied
2045

CELEBRATED CRIMES

the soldier, shaking his head. " As for me, I fol-
lowed the career which was open to me, and took
service of my own free willunder the banner of our
lord king, Henry ii. This man, whom you rightly
suppose to be my brother, was born in Biscay, and
became attached to the household of the Cardinal
of Burgos, and afterwards to the cardinal's brother,
whom he was obliged to follow to the war. I recog-
nised him on the battle-field just as he fell; I
dragged him out of a heap of dead, and brought
him here."

During his recital this individual's features be-
trayed considerable agitation, but the surgeon did
not heed it. Not finding some necessary instru-
ments, " My colleague," he exclaimed, " must have
carried them off. He constantly does this, out of
jealousy of my reputation; but I will be even with
him yet! Such splendid instruments! They will
almost work of themselves, and are capable of im-
parting some skill even to him, dunce as he is ! . . .
I shall be back in an hour or two ; he must rest, sleep,
have nothing to excite him, nothing to inflame the
wound; and when the operation is well over, we
shall see ! May the Lord be gracious to him ! "

Then he went to the door, leaving the poor
wretch to the care of his supposed brother.

" My God! " he added, shaking his head, " if he
survive, it will be by the help of a miracle."

2046

MARTIN GUERRE

Scarcely had he left the room, when the un-
wounded soldier carefully examined the features of
the wounded one.

" Yes," he murmured between his teeth, " they
were right in saying that my exact double was to be
found in the hostile army. . . . Truly one would
not know us apart ! . . . I might be surveying my-
self in a mirror. I did well to look for him in the
rear of the Spanish army, and, thanks to the fellow
who rolled him over so conveniently with that
arquebus-shot, I v/as able to escape the dangers of
the melee by carrying him out of it."

" But that's not all," he thought, still carefully
studying the tortured face of the unhappy sufferer ;
" it is not enough to have got out of that. I have
absolutely nothing in the world, no home, no
resources. Beggar by birth, adventurer by fortune,
I have enlisted, and have consumed my pay ; I hoped
for plunder, and here we are in full flight! What
am I to do ? Go and drown myself ? No, certainly :
a cannon-ball would be as good as that. But can't I
profit by this chance, and obtain a decent position
by turning to my own advantage this curious
resemblance, and making some use of this man
whom Fate has thrown in my way, and who has but
a short time to live? "

Arguing thus, he bent over the prostrate man
with a cynical laugh : one might have thought he

2047

CELEBRATED CRIMES

was Satan watching the departure of a soul too
utterly lost to escape him.

" Alas ! alas ! " cried the sufferer ; " may God have
mercy on me ! I feel my end is near."

" Bah ! comrade, drive away these dismal
thoughts. Your leg pains you — well, they will cut
it off! Think only of the other one, and trust in
Providence ! "

"Water, a drop of water, for Heaven's sake!"
The sufferer was in a high fever. The would-be
nurse looked round and saw a jug of water, towards
which the dying man extended a trembling hand.
A truly infernal idea entered his mind. He poured
some water into a gourd which hung from his belt,
held it to the lips of the wounded man, and then
withdrew it.

"Oh! I thirst — that water! . . . For pity's sake,
give me some ! "

" Yes, but on one condition — you must tell me
your whole history."

" Yes . , . but give me water ! "

His tormentor allowed him to swallow a mouth-
ful, then overwhelmed him with questions as to his
family, his friends and fortune, and compelled him
to answer by keeping before his eyes the water
which alone could relieve the fever which devoured
him. After this often interrupted interrogation,
the sufferer sank back exhausted, and almost insen-

2048

MARTIN GUERRE

sible. But, not yet satisfied, his companion con-
ceived the idea of reviving him with a few drops
of brandy, which quickly brought back the fever,
and excited his brain sufficiently to enable him to
answer fresh questions. The doses of spirit were
doubled several times, at the risk of ending the
unhappy man's days then and there. Almost delir-
ious, his head feeling as if on fire, his sufferings
gave way to a feverish excitement, which took him
back to other places and other times : he began to
recall the days of his youth and the country where
he lived. But his tongue was still fettered by a
kind of reserve : his secret thoughts, the private
details of his past life were not yet told, and it
seemed as though he might die at any moment.
Time was passing, night already coming on, and it
occurred to the merciless questioner to profit by the
gathering darkness. By a few solemn words he
aroused the religious feelings of the sufferer, ter-
rified him by speaking of the punishments of an-
other life and the flames of hell, until to the deliri-
ous fancy of the sick man he took the form of a
judge who could either deliver him to eternal dam-
nation or open the gates of heaven to him. At
length, overwhelmed by a voice which resounded
in his ear like that of a minister of God, the dying
man laid bare his inmost soul before his tormentor,
and made his last confession to him.

2049

CELEBRATED CRIMES

Yet a few moments, and the executioner — he de-
serves no other name — hangs over his victim, opens
his tunic, seizes some papers and a few coins, half
draws his dagger, but thinks better of it ; then, con-
temptuously spurning the victim, as the other sur-
geon had done —

" I might kill you," he says, " but it would be a
useless murder ; it would only be hastening your last
sigh by an hour or two, and advancing my claims
to your inheritance by the same space of time."

And he adds mockingly —

" Farewell, my brother! "

The wounded soldier utters a feeble groan; the
adventurer leaves the room.

• •••••••

Four months later, a woman sat at the door of a
house at one end of the village of Artigues, near
Rieux, and played with a child about nine or ten
years of age. Still young, she had the brown com-
plexion of Southern women, and her beautiful black
hair fell in curls about her face. Her flashing eyes
occasionally betrayed hidden passions, concealed,
however, beneath an apparent indifference and lass-
itude, and her wasted form seemed to acknowledge
the existence of some secret grief. An observer
would have divined a shattered life, a withered
happiness, a soul grievously wounded.

Her dress was that of a wealthy peasant; and
2050

MARTIN GUERRE

she wore one of the long gowns with hanging
sleeves which were in fashion in the sixteenth cen-
tury. The house in front of which she sat belonged
to her, so also the immense field which adjoined the
garden. Her attention was divided between the
play of her son and the orders she was giving to
an old servant, when an exclamation from the child
startled her.

"Mother!" he cried, "mother, there he is!"
She looked where the child pointed, and saw a young
boy turning the corner of the street.

" Yes," continued the child, "that is the lad who,
when I was playing with the other boys yesterday,
called me all sorts of bad names."

"What sort of names, my child?"

" There was one I did not understand, but it must
have been a very bad one, for the other boys all
pointed at me, and left me alone. He called me —
and he said it was only what his mother had told
him — he called me a wicked bastard ! "

His mother's face became purple with indigna-
tion. "What!" she cried, "they dared! . . .
What an insult!"

" What does this bad word mean, mother ? "
asked the child, half frightened by her anger. "Is
that what they call poor children who have no
father?"

His mother folded him in her arms. " Oh ! " she
2051

CELEBRATED CRIMES

continued, " it is an infamous slander ! These peo-
ple never saw your father, they have only been here
six years, and this is the eighth since he v^^ent away,
but this is abominable! We were married in that
church, we came at once to live in this house, which
was my marriage portion, and my poor Martin has
relations and friends here who will not allow his
wife to be insulted "

" Say rather, his widow," interrupted a solemn
voice.

" Ah ! uncle ! " exclaimed the woman, turning
towards an old man who had just emerged from the
house,

" Yes, Bertrande," continued the new-comer,
" you must get reconciled to the idea that my nephew
has ceased to exist. I am sure he was not such a
fool as to have remained all this time without let-
ting us hear from him. He was not the fellow to
go off at a tangent, on account of a domestic quar-
rel which you have never vouchsafed to explain to
me, and to retain his anger during all these eight
years! Where did he go? What did he do? We
none of us know, neither you nor I, nor anybody
else. He is assuredly dead, and lies in some grave-
yard far enough from here. May God have mercy
on his soul ! "

Bertrande, weeping, made the sign of the cross,
and bowed her head upon her hands.

2052

MARTIN GUERRE

" Good-bye, Sanxi," said the uncle, tapping the
child's cheek. Sanxi turned sulkily away.

There was certainly nothing specially attractive
about the uncle : he belonged to a type which chil-
dren instinctively dislike, false, crafty, with squint-
ing eyes which continually appeared to contradict
his honeyed tongue.

" Bertrande," he said, " your boy is like his father
before him, and only answers my kindness with
rudeness."

" Forgive him," answered the mother ; " he is
very young, and does not understand the respect
due to his father's uncle. I will teach him better
things ; he will soon learn that he ought to be grate-
ful for the care you have taken of his little prop-
erty."

" No doubt, no doubt," said the uncle, trying
hard to smile. " I will give you a good account of
it, for I shall only have to reckon with you two in
future. Come, my dear, believe me, your husband
is really dead, and you have sorrowed quite enough
for a good-for-nothing fellow. Think no more
of him."

So saying, he departed, leaving the poor young
woman a prey to the saddest thoughts.

Bertrande de Rolls, naturally gifted with ex-
treme sensibility, on which a careful education had
imposed due restraint, had barely completed her

2053

CELEBRATED CRIMES

twelfth year when she was married to Martin
Guerre, a boy of about the same age, such pre-
cocious unions being then not uncommon, especially
in the Southern provinces. They were generally
settled by considerations of family interest, assisted
by the extremely early development habitual to the
climate. The young couple lived for a long time
as brother and sister, and Bertrande, thus early
familiar with the idea of domestic happiness, be-
stowed her whole affection on the youth whom she
had been taught to regard as her life's companion.
He was the Alpha and Omega of her existence ; all
her love, all her thoughts, were given to him, and
when their marriage was at length completed, the
birth of a son seemed only another link in the
already long existing bond of union. But, as many
wise men have remarked, a uniform happiness,
which only attaches women more and more, has
often upon men a precisely contrary effect, and so
it was with Martin Guerre. Of a lively and excit-
able temperament, he wearied of a yoke which had
been imposed so early, and, anxious to see the world
and enjoy some freedom, he one day took advan-
tage of a domestic difference, In which Bertrande
owned herself to have been wrong, and left his
house and family. He was sought and awaited in
vain. Bertrande spent the first month in vainly
expecting his return, then she betook herself to

2054

MARTIN GUERRE

prayer; but Heaven appeared deaf to her supplica-
tions, the truant returned not. She wished to go
in search of him, but the world is wide, and no sin-
gle trace remained to guide her. What torture
for a tender heart! What suffering for a soul
thirsting for love! What sleepless nights! What
restless vigils! Years passed thus; her son was
growing up, yet not a word reached her from the
man she loved so much. She spoke often of him
to the uncomprehending child, she sought to dis-
cover his features in those of her boy, but though
she endeavoured to concentrate her whole affection
on her son, she realised that there is suffering which
maternal love cannot console, and tears which it
cannot dry. Consumed by the strength of the sor-
row which ever dwelt in her heart, the poor woman
was slowly wasting, worn out by the regrets of the
past, the vain desires of the present, and the dreary
prospect of the future. And now she had been
openly insulted, her feelings as a mother wounded
to the quick; and her husband's uncle, instead of
defending and consoling her, could give only cold
counsel and unsympathetic words!

Pierre Guerre, indeed, was simply a thorough
egotist. In his youth he had been charged with
usury ; no one knew by what means he had become
rich, for the little drapery trade which he called his
profession did not appear to be very profitable.

2055

CELEBRATED CRIMES

After his nephew's departure it seemed only natural
that he should pose as the family guardian, and he
applied himself to the task of increasing the little
income, but without considering himself bound to
give any account to Bertrande. So, once persuaded
that Martin was no more, he was apparently not
unwilling to prolong a situation so much to his own
advantage.

Night was fast coming on; in the dim twilight
distant objects became confused and indistinct. It
was the end of autumn, that melancholy season
which suggests so many gloomy thoughts and re-
calls so many blighted hopes. The child had gone
into the house. Bertrande, still sitting at the door,
resting her forehead on her hand, thought sadly of
her uncle's words ; recalling in imagination the past
scenes which they suggested, the time of their child-
hood, when, married so young, they were as yet
only playmates, prefacing the graver duties of life
by innocent pleasures; then of the love which grew
with their increasing age; then of how this love
became altered, changing on her side into passion,
on his into indifference. She tried to recollect him
as he had been on the eve of his departure, young
and handsome, carrying his head high, coming home
from a fatiguing hunt and sitting by his son's
cradle; and then also she remembered bitterly the
jealous suspicions she had conceived, the anger with

2056

MARTIN GUERRE

which she had allowed them to escape her, the con-
sequent quarrel, followed by the disappearance of
her offended husband, and the eight succeeding
years of solitude and mourning. She wept over
his desertion, over the desolation of her life, seeing
around her only indifferent or selfish people, and
caring only to live for her child's sake, who gave
her at least a shadowy reflection of the husband she
had lost. " Lost — yes, lost for ever ! " she said to
herself, sighing, and looking again at the fields
whence she had so often seen him coming at this
same twilight hour, returning to his home for the
evening meal. She cast a wandering eye on the
distant hills, which showed a black outline against
a yet fiery western sky, then let it fall on a little
grove of olive trees planted on the farther side of
the brook which skirted her dwelling. Everything
was calm; approaching night brought silence along
with darkness: it was exactly what she saw every
evening, but to leave which required always an
effort.

She rose to re-enter the house, when her atten-
tion was caught by a movement amongst the trees.
For a moment she thought she was mistaken, but
the branches again rustled, then parted asunder, and
the form of a man appeared on the other side of
the brook. Terrified, Bertrande tried to scream,
but not a sound escaped her lips; her voice seemed

2057

CELEBRATED CRIMES

paralyzed by terror, as in an evil dream. And she
almost thought it was a dream, for notwithstanding
the dark shadows cast around this indistinct sem-
blance, she seemed to recognise features once dear
to her. Had her bitter reveries ended by making
her the victim of a hallucination? She thought her
brain was giving way, and sank on her knees to
pray for help. But the figure remained; it stood
motionless, with folded arms, silently gazing at her !
Then she thought of witchcraft, of evil demons, and
superstitious as every one was in those days, she
kissed a crucifix which hung from her neck, and
fell fainting on the ground. With one spring the
phantom crossed the brook and stood beside her.

"Bertrande!" it said in a voice of emotion.
She raised her head, uttered a piercing cry, and was
clasped in her husband's arms.

The whole village became aware of this event
that same evening. The neighbours crowded round
Bertrande's door, Martin's friends and relations
naturally wishing to see him after this miraculous
reappearance, while those who had never known
him desired no less to gratify their curiosity; so
that the hero of the little drama, instead of remain-
ing quietly at home with his wife, was obliged to
exhibit himself publicly In a neighbouring barn.
His four sisters burst through the crowd and fell
on his neck weeping ; his uncle examined him doubt-

2058

MARTIN GUERRE

fully at first, then extended his arms. Everybody
recognised him, beginning with the old servant
Marguerite, who had been with the young couple
ever since their wedding-day. People observed only
that a riper age had strengthened his features, and
given more character to his countenance and more
development to his powerful figure; also that he
had a scar over the right eyebrow, and that he
limped slightly. These were the marks of wounds
he had received, he said, which now no longer
troubled him. He appeared anxious to return to his
wife and child, but the crowd insisted on hearing
the story of his adventures during his voluntary
absence, and he was obliged to satisfy them. Eight
years ago, he said, the desire to see more of the
world had gained an irresistible mastery over him ;
he yielded to it, and departed secretly. A natural
longing took him to his birthplace in Biscay, where
he had seen his surviving relatives. There he met
the Cardinal of Burgos, who took him into his ser-
vice, promising him profit, hard knocks to give and
take, and plenty of adventure. Some time after, he
left the cardinal's household for that of his brother,
who, much against his will, compelled him to follow
him to the war and bear arms against the French.
Thus he found himself on the Spanish side on the
day of St. Qucntin, and received a terrible gun-shot
wound in the leg. Being carried into a house in an

2059

CELEBRATED CRIMES

adjoining village, he fell into the hands of a sur-
geon, who insisted that the leg must be amputated
immediately, but who left him for a moment, and
never returned. Then he encountered a good old
woman, who dressed his wound and nursed him
night and day. So that in a few weeks he recovered,
and was able to set out for Artigues, too thankful
to return to his house and land, still more to his
wife and child, and fully resolved never to leave
them again.

Having ended his story, he shook hands with his
still wondering neighbours, addressing by name
some who had been very young when he left, and
who, hearing their names, came forward now as
grown men, hardly recognisable, but much pleased
at being remembered. He returned his sisters' ca-
resses, begged his uncle's forgiveness for the trouble
he had given in his boyhood, recalling w^ith mirth
the various corrections received. He mentioned also
an Augustinian monk who had taught him to read,
and another reverend father, a Capuchin, whose
irregular conduct had caused much scandal in the
neighbourhood. In short, notwithstanding his pro-
longed absence, he seemed to have a perfect recol-
lection of places, persons, and things. The good
people overwhelmed him with congratulations, vy-
ing with one another in praising him for having the
good sense to come home, and in describing the grief

2060

MARTIN GUERRE

and the perfect virtue of his Bertrande. Emotion
was excited, many wept, and several bottles from
Martin Guerre's cellar were emptied. At length the
assembly dispersed, uttering many exclamations
about the extraordinary chances of Fate, and retired
to their own homes, excited, astonished, and grati-
fied, with the one exception of old Pierre Guerre,
who had been struck by an unsatisfactory remark
made by his nephew, and who dreamed all night
about the chances of pecuniary loss augured by the
latter's return.

It was midnight before the husband and wife
were alone and able to give vent to their feelings.
Bertrande still felt half stupefied; she could not
believe her own eyes and ears, nor realise that she
saw again in her marriage chamber her husband of
eight years ago, him for whom she had wept, whose
death she had deplored only a few hours previously.
In the sudden shock caused by so much joy succeed-
ing so much grief, she had not been able to express
what she felt; her confused ideas were difficult to
explain, and she seemed deprived of the powers of
speech and reflection. When she became calmer
and more capable of analysing her feelings, she
was astonished not to feel towards her husband the
same affection which had moved her so strongly
a few hours before. It was certainly himself, those
were the same features, that was the man to whom

2061

CELEBRATED CRIMES

she had willingly given her hand, her heart, herself,
and yet now that she saw him again a cold barrier
of shyness, of modesty, seemed to have risen be-
tween them. His first kiss, even, had not made her
happy: she blushed and felt saddened — a curious
result of the long absence! She could not define
the changes wrought by years in his appearance : his
countenance seemed harsher, yet the lines of his
face, his outer man, his whole personality, did not
seem altered, but his soul had changed its nature,
a different mind looked forth from those eyes.
Bertrande knew him for her husband, and yet she
hesitated. Even so Penelope, on the return of
Ulysses, required a certain proof to confirm the evi-
dence of her eyes, and her long absent husband had
to remind her of secrets known only to herself.

Martin, however, as if he understood Bertrande's
feeling and divined some secret mistrust, used the
most tender and affectionate phrases, and even the
very pet names which close intimacy had formerly
endeared to them.

" My queen," he said, " my beautiful dove, can
you not lay aside your resentment? Is it still so
strong that no submission can soften it? Cannot
my repentance find grace in your eyes? My Ber-
trande, my Bertha, my Bertranilla, as I used to
call you."

She tried to smile, but stopped short, puzzled;
2062

MARTIN GUERRE

the names were the very same, but the inflexion of
voice quite different.

Martin took her hands in his. " What pretty
hands! Do you still wear my ring? Yes, here it
is, and with it the sapphire ring I gave you the day
Sanxi was born."

Bertrande did not answer, but she took the child
and placed him in his father's arms.

Martin showered caresses on his son, and spoke
of the time when he carried him as a baby in the
garden, lifting him up to the fruit trees, so that he
could reach and try to bite the fruit. He recollected
one day when the poor child got his leg terribly
torn by thorns, and convinced himself, not without
emotion, that the scar could still be seen.

Bertrande was touched by this display of affec-
tionate recollections, and felt vexed at her own cold-
ness. She came up to Martin and laid her hand in
his. He said gently —

" My departure caused you great grief : I now
repent what I did. But I was young, I was proud,
and your reproaches were unjust."

"Ah!" said she, "you have not forgotten the
cause of our quarrel ? "

" It was little Rose, our neighbour, whom you

said I was making love to, because you found us

together at the spring in the little wood. I explained

that we met only by chance, — besides, she was only

2063

CELEBRATED CRIMES

a child, — but you would not listen, and in your
anger "

" Ah ! forgive me, Martin, forgive me ! " she
interrupted, in confusion.

" In your blind anger you took up, I know not
what, something which lay handy, and flung it at
me. And here is the mark," he continued, smiling,
" this scar, which is still to be seen."

" Oh, Martin ! " Bertrande exclaimed, " can you
ever forgive me? "

" As you see," IMartin replied, kissing her ten-
derly.

Much moved, Bertrande swept aside his hair, and
looked at the scar visible on his forehead.

" But," she said, with surprise not free from
alarm, " this scar seems to me like a fresh one,"

" Ah ! " Martin explained, with a little embar-
rassment ; " it reopened lately. But I had thought
no more about it. Let us forget it, Bertrande; I
should not like a recollection which might make you
think yourself less dear to me than you once were."

And he drew her upon his knee. She repelled
him gently.

"Send the child to bed," said Martin. "To-
morrow shall be for him; to-night you have the
first place, Bertrande, you only."

The boy kissed his father and went.

Bertrande came and knelt beside her husband,
2064

MARTIN GUERRE

regarding him attentively with an uneasy smile,
which did not appear to please him by any means.

" What is the matter? " said he. " Why do you
examine me thus ? "

" I do not know — forgive me, oh ! forgive me !
. . . But the happiness of seeing you was so great
and unexpected, it is all like a dream. I must try
to become accustomed to it; give me some time to
collect myself; let me spend this night in prayer.
I ought to offer my joy and my thanksgiving to
Almighty God "

" Not so," interrupted her husband, passing his
arms round her neck and stroking- her beautiful
hair. " No ; 'tis to me that your first thoughts are
due. After so much weariness, my rest is in again
beholding you, and my happiness after so many
trials will be found in your love. That hope has
supported me throughout, and I long to be assured
that it is no illusion," So saying, he endeavoured
to raise her.

" Oh," she murmured, " I pray you leave me."

" What ! " he exclaimed angrily. " Bertrande, is
this your love? Is it thus you keep faith with me?
You will make me doubt the evidence of your
friends; you will make me think that indifference,
or even another love "

" You insult me," said Bertrande, rising to her feet.

He caught her in his arms. "No, no; I think
2065

CELEBRATED CRIMES

nothing which could wound you, my queen, and I
believe your fidelity, even as before, you know, on
that first journey, when you wrote me these loving
letters which I have treasured ever smce. Here
they are." And he drew forth some papers, on
which Bertrande recognised her own handwriting.
" Yes," he continued, " I have read and re-read
them. See, you spoke then of your love and the
sorrows of absence. But why all this trouble and
terror? You tremble, just as you did when I first
received you from your father's hands. ... It was
here, in this very room. . . . You begged me then
to leave you, to let you spend the night in prayer;
but I insisted, do you remember ? and pressed you to
my heart, as I do now."

" Oh," she murmured weakly, *' have pity! "
But the words were intercepted by a kiss, and the
remembrance of the past, the happiness of the pres-
ent, resumed their sway; the imaginary terrors were
forgotten, and the curtains closed around the mar-
riage-bed.

The next day was a festival in the village of
Artigues. Martin returned the visits of all who had
come to welcome him the previous night, and there
were endless recognitions and embracings. The
young men remembered that he had played with
them when they were little; the old men, that they
had been at his wedding when he was only twelve.

2066

MARTIN GUERRE

The women remembered having envied Bertrande,
especially the pretty Rose, daughter of Marcel, the
apothecary, she who had roused the demon of
jealousy in the poor wife's heart. And Rose knew
quite well that the jealousy was not without some
cause; for Martin had indeed shown her attention,
and she was unable to see him again without emo-
tion. She was now the wife of a rich peasant, ugly,
old, and jealous, and she compared, sighing, her
unhappy lot with that of her more fortunate neigh-
bour. Martin's sisters detained him amongst them,
and spoke of their childish games and of their
parents, both dead in Biscay. Martin dried the tears
which flowed at these recollections of the past, and
turned their thoughts to rejoicing. Banquets were
given and received. Martin invited all his relations
and former friends; an easy gaiety prevailed. It
was remarked that the hero of the feast refrained
from wine; he was thereupon reproached, but
answered that on account of the wounds he had
received he was obliged to avoid excess. The excuse
was admitted, the result of Martin's precautions
being that he kept a clear head on his shoulders,
while all the rest had their tongues loosed by drunk-
enness.

" Ah ! " exclaimed one of the guests, who had
studied a little medicine, " Martin is quite right to
be afraid of drink. Wounds which have thoroughly

2067

CELEBRATED CRIMES

healed may be reopened and inflamed by intemper-
ance, and wine in the case of recent wounds is
deadly poison. Men have died on the field of battle
in an hour or two merely because they had swal-
lowed a little brandy."

Martin Guerre grew pale, and began a conversa-
tion with the pretty Rose, his neighbour. Bertrande
observed this, but without uneasiness; she had
suffered too much from her former suspicions, be-
sides her husband showed her so much affection that
she was now quite happy.

When the first few days were over, Martin began
to look into his affairs. His property had suffered
by his long absence, and he was obliged to go to
Biscay to claim his little estate there, the law having
already laid hands upon it. It was several months
before, by dint of making judicious sacrifices, he
could regain possession of the house and fields which
had belonged to his father. This at last accom-
plished, he returned to Artigues, in order to resume
the management of his wife's property, and with
this end in view, about eleven months after his
return, he paid a visit to his uncle Pierre.

Pierre was expecting him; he was extremely
polite, desired Martin to sit down, overwhelmed
him with compliments, knitting his brows as he
discovered that his nephew decidedly meant business.
Martin broke silence.

2068

MARTIN GUERRE

" Uncle," he said, " I come to thank you for the
care you have taken of my wife's property; she
could never have managed it alone. You have
received the income in the family interest : as a good
guardian, I expected no less from your affection.
But now that I have returned, and am free from
other cares, we will go over the accounts, if you
please."

His uncle coughed and cleared his voice before
replying, then said slowly, as if counting his words —

" It is all accounted for, my dear nephew ; Heaven
be praised ! I don't owe you anything."

" What ! " exclaimed the astonished Martin, " but
the whole income? "

" Was well and properly employed in the main-
tenance of your wife and child."

" What ! a thousand livres for that ? And Ber-
trande lived alone, so quietly and simply ! Nonsense !
it is impossible."

" Any surplus," resumed the old man, quite un-
moved, — " any surplus went to pay the expenses of
seed-time and harvest."

" What ! at a time when labour costs next to
nothing? "

" Here is the account," said Pierre.

" Then the account is a false one," returned his
nephew.

Pierre thought it advisable to appear extremely
2069

CELEBRATED CRIMES

offended and angry, and Martin, exasperated at his
evident dishonesty, took still higher ground, and
threatened to bring an action against him. Pierre
ordered him to leave the house, and suiting actions
to words, took hold of his arm to enforce his
departure. Martin, furious, turned and raised his
fist to strike.

"What! strike your uncle, wretched boy!" ex-
claimed the old man.

Martin's hand dropped, but he left the house utter-
ing reproaches and insults, among which Pierre
distinguished :

" Cheat that you are ! "

" That is a word I shall remember," cried the
angry old man, slamming his door violently.

Martin brought an action before the judge at
Rieux, and in course of time obtained a decree,
which, reviewing the accounts presented by Pierre,
disallowed them, and condemned the dishonest
guardian to pay his nephew four hundred livres for
each year of his administration. The day on which
this sum had to be disbursed from his strong box
the old usurer vowed vengeance, but until he could
gratify his hatred he was forced to conceal it, and
to receive attempts at reconciliation with a friendly
smile. It was not until six months later, on the
occasion of a joyous festivity, that Martin again set
foot in his uncle's house. The bells were ringing

2070

MARTIN GUERRE

for the birth of a child, there was great gaiety at
Bertrande's house, where all the guests were waiting
on the threshold for the godfather in order to take
the infant to church, and when Martin appeared,
escorting his uncle, who was adorned with a huge
bouquet for the occasion, and who now came for-
ward and took the hand of Rose, the pretty god-
mother, there were cries of joy on all sides. Ber-
trande was delighted at this reconciliation, and
dreamed only of happiness. She was so happy now,
her long sorrow was atoned for, her regret was at
an end, her prayers seemed to have been heard, the
long interval between the former delights and the
present seemed wiped out as if the bond of union
had never been broken, and if she remembered her
grief at all, it was only to intensify the new joys
by comparison. She loved her husband more than
ever; he was full of affection for her, and she was
grateful for his love. The past had now no shadow,
the future no cloud, and the birth of a daughter,
drawing still closer the links which united them,
seemed a new pledge of felicity. Alas! the horizon
which appeared so bright and clear to the poor
woman was doomed soon again to be overcast.

The very evening of the christening party, a band
of musicians and jugglers happened to pass through
the village, and the inhabitants showed themselves
liberal. Pierre asked questions, and found that the

2071

CELEBRATED CRIMES

leader ol the band was a Spaniard. He invited the
man to his own house, and remained closeted with
him for nearly an hour, dismissing him at length
with a refilled purse. Two days later the old man
announced to the family that he was going to
Picardy to see a former partner on a matter of busi-
ness, and he departed accordingly, saying he should
return before long.

The day on which Bertrande again saw her uncle
was, indeed, a terrible one. She was sitting by the
cradle of the lately-born infant, watching for its
awakening, when the door opened, and Pierre
Guerre strode in. Bertrande drew back with an
instinct of terror as soon as she saw him, for his
expression was at once wicked and joyful — an ex-
pression of gratified hate, of mingled rage and
triumph, and his smile was terrible to behold. She
did not venture to speak, but motioned him to a seat.
He came straight up to her, and raising his head,
said loudly —

" Kneel down at once, madame — kneel down, and
ask pardon from Almighty God ! "

" Are you mad, Pierre ? " she replied, gazing at
him in astonishment.

" You, at least, ought to know that I am not."

"Pray for forgiveness — I — ! and what for, in
Heaven's name ? "

" For the crime in which you are an accomplice."
2072

MARTIN GUERRE

" Please explain yourself."

" Oh ! " said Pierre, with bitter irony, " a woman
always thinks herself innocent as long as her sin is
hidden; she thinks the truth will never be known,
and her conscience goes quietly to sleep, forgetting
her faults. Here is a woman who thought her sins
nicely concealed; chance favoured her: an absent
husband, probably no more ; another man so exactly
like him in height, face, and manner that everyone
else is deceived ! Is it strange that a weak, sensitive
woman, wearied of widowhood, should willingly
allow herself to be imposed on? "

Bertrande listened without understanding; she
tried to interrupt, but Pierre went on —

" It was easy to accept this stranger without
having to blush for it, easy to give him the name and
the rights of a husband! She could even appear
faithful while really guilty ; she could seem constant,
though really fickle; and she could, under a veil of
mystery, at once reconcile her honour, her duty —
perhaps even her love."

" What on earth do you mean? " cried Bertrande,
wringing her hands in terror.

" That you are countenancing an impostor who is
not your husband."

Feeling as if the ground were passing from
beneath her, Bertrande staggered, and caught at the
nearest piece of furniture to save herself from fall-

^^73 Dumas— Vol. G— J

CELEBRATED CRIMES

ing; then, collecting all her strength to meet this
extraordinary attack, she faced the old man,

" What ! my husband, your nephew, an im-
postor! "

"Don't you know it?"
"Ill"

This cry, which came from her heart, convinced
Pierre that she did not know, and that she had sus-
tained a terrible shock. He continued more
quietly —

" What, Bertrande, is it possible you were really
deceived ? "

" Pierre, you are killing me ; your words are tor-
ture. No more mystery, I entreat. What do you
know? What do you suspect? Tell me plainly at
once,"

" Have you courage to hear it ? "

" I must," said the trembling woman.

" God is my witness that I would willingly have
kept it from you, but you must know; if only for
the safety of your soul entangled in so deadly a
snare, . . . there is yet time, if you follow my
advice. Listen : the man with whom you are living,
who dares to call himself Martin Guerre, is a cheat,
an impostor "

" How dare you say so ? "

"Because"! have discovered it. Yes, I had always
a vague suspicion, an uneasy feeling, and in spite of

2074

MARTIN GUERRE

the marvellous resemblance I could never feel as if
he were really my sister's child. The day he raised
his hand to strike me — yes, that day I condemned
him utterly. . . . Chance has justified me! A wan-
dering Spaniard, an old soldier, who spent a night
in the village here, was also present at the battle of
St. Quentin, and saw Martin Guerre receive a terri-
ble gunshot wound in the leg. After the battle, be-
ing wounded, he betook himself to the neighbouring
village, and distinctly heard a surgeon in the next
room say that a wounded man must have his leg
amputated, and would very likely not survive the
operation. The door opened, he saw the sufferer,
and knew him for Martin Guerre. So much the
Spaniard told me. Acting on this information, I
went on pretence of business to the village he named,
I questioned the inhabitants, and this is what I
learned."

" ^^^ell? " said Bertrande, pale, and gasping with
emotion.

"I learned that the wounded man had his leg taken
off, and, as the surgeon predicted, he must have died
in a few hours, for he was never seen again."

Bertrande remained a few moments as if anni-
hilated by this appalling revelation ; then, endeavor-
ing to repel the horrible thought —

" No," she cried, " no, it is impossible ! It is a lie
intended to ruin him — to ruin us all."
2075

CELEBRATED CRIMES

" What ! you do not believe me ? "

" No, never, never ! "

" Say rather you pretend to disbelieve me : the
truth has pierced your heart, but you wish to deny
it. Think, however, of the danger to your immortal
soul."

" Silence, wretched man ! . . . No, God would
not send me so terrible a trial. What proof can you
show of the truth of your words? "

" The witnesses I have mentioned."

" Nothing more?"

" No, not as yet."

" Fine proofs indeed ! The story of a vagabond
who flattered your hatred in hope of a reward, the
gossip of a distant village, the recollections of ten
years back, and finally, your own word, the word
of a man who seeks only revenge, the word of a man
who swore to make Martin pay dearly for the
results of his own avarice, a man of furious passions
such as yours ! No, Pierre, no, I do not believe you,
and I never will ! "

" Other people may perhaps be less incredulous,
and if I accuse him publicly "

" Then I shall contradict you publicly ! " And
coming quickly forward, her eyes shining with
virtuous anger —

" Leave this house, go," she said ; " it is you your-
self who are the impostor — go ! "

2076

MARTIN GUERRE

" I shall yet know how to convince everyone, and
will make you acknowledge it," cried the furious
old man.

He went out, and Bertrande sank exhausted into
a chair. All the strength which had supported her
against Pierre vanished as soon as she was alone,
and in spite of her resistance to suspicion, the terri-
ble light of doubt penetrated her heart, and extin-
guished the pure torch of trustfulness which had
guided her hitherto — a doubt, alas ! which attacked
at once her honour and her love, for she loved with
all a woman's tender affection. Just as actual poison
gradually penetrates and circulates through the
whole system, corrupting the blood and affecting the
very sources of life until it causes the destruction of
the whole body, so does that mental poison, suspi-
cion, extend its ravages in the soul which has
received it. Bertrande remembered with terror her
first feelings at the sight of the returned Martin
Guerre, her involuntary repugnance, her astonish-
ment at not feeling more in touch with the husband
whom she had so sincerely regretted. She remem-
bered also, as if she saw it for the first time, that
Martin, formerly quick, lively, and hasty tempered,
now seemed thoughtful, and fully master of himself.

This change of character she had supposed due to
the natural development of age, she now trembled
at the idea of another possible cause. Some other

2077

CELEBRATED CRIMES

little details began to occur to her mind — the forget-
fulness or abstraction of her husband as to a few
insignificant things; thus it sometimes happened
that he did not answer to his name of Martin, also
that he mistook the road to a hermitage, formerly
well known to them both, and again that he could not
answer when addressed in Basque, although he him-
self had taught her the little she knew of this
language. Besides, since his return, he would never
write in her presence, did he fear that she would
notice some difference? She had paid Httle or no
attention to these trifles ; now, pieced together, they
assumed an alarming importance. An appalling
terror seized Bertrande: was she to remain in this
uncertainty, or should she seek an explanation which
might prove her destruction? And how discover
the truth — by questioning the guilty man, by noting
his confusion, his change of colour, by forcing a
confession from him? But she had lived with him
for two years, he was the father of her child, she
could not ruin him without ruining herself, and, an
explanation once sought, she could neither punish
him and escape disgrace, nor pardon him without
sharing his guilt. To reproach him with his conduct
and then keep silence would destroy her peace for
ever; to cause a scandal by denouncing him would
bring dishonour upon herself and her child. Night
found her involved in these hideous perplexities, too
2078

MARTIN GUERRE

weak to surmount them ; an icy chill came over her,
she went to bed, and awoke in a high fever. For sev-
eral days she hovered between life and death, and
Martin Guerre bestowed the most tender care upon
her. She was greatly moved thereby, having one of
those impressionable minds which recognise kind-
ness fully as much as injury. When she was a little
recovered and her mental power began to return, she
had only a vague recollection of what had occurred,
and thought she had had a frightful dream. She
asked if Pierre Guerre had been to see her, and found
he had not been near the house. This could only be
explained by the scene which had taken place, and
she then recollected all — the accusation Pierre had
made, her own observations which had confirmed it,
all her grief and trouble. She inquired about the
village news. Pierre, evidently, had kept silence —
why? Had he seen that his suspicions were unjust,
or was he only seeking further evidence ? She sank
back into her cruel uncertainty, and resolved to
watch Martin closely, before deciding as to his guilt
or innocence.

How was she to suppose that God had created two
faces so exactly alike, two beings precisely similar,
and then sent them together into the world, and on
the same track, merely to compass the ruin of an
unhappy woman! A terrible idea took possession
of her mind, an idea not uncommon in an age of

2079

CELEBRATED CRIMES

superstition, namely, that the Enemy himself could
assume human form, and could borrow the sem-
blance of a dead man in order to capture another
soul for his infernal kingdom. Acting on this idea,
she hastened to the church, paid for masses to be
said, and prayed fervently. She expected every day
to see the demon forsake the body he had animated,
but her vows, offerings, and prayers had no result.
But Heaven sent her an idea which she wondered
had not occurred to her sooner. "If the Tempter,"
she said to herself, "has taken the form of my
beloved husband, his power being supreme for evil,
the resemblance would be exact, and no difference,
however slight, would exist. If, however, it is only
another man who resembles him, God must have
made them with some slight distinguishing marks."
She then remembered, what she had not thought
of before, having been quite unsuspicious before her
uncle's accusation, and nearly out of her mind be-
tween mental and bodily suffering since. She
remembered that on her husband's left shoulder,
almost on the neck, there used to be one of those
small, almost imperceptible, but ineffaceable birth-
marks. Martin wore his hair very long, it was
difficult to see if the mark were there or not. One
night, while he slept, Bertrande cut away a lock of
hair from the place where this sign ought to be— it
was not there !

2080

MARTIN GUERRE

Convinced at length of the deception, Bertrande
suffered inexpressible anguish. This man whom she
had loved and respected for two whole years, whom
she had taken to her heart as a husband bitterly-
mourned for — this man was a cheat, an infamous
impostor, and she, all unknowing, was yet a guilty
woman! Her child was illegitimate, and the curse
of Heaven was due to this sacrilegious union. To
complete the misfortune, she was already expecting
another infant. She would have killed herself, but
her religion and the love of her children forbade it.
Kneeling before her child's cradle, she entreated
pardon from the father of the one for the father of
the other. She would not bring herself to proclaim
aloud their infamy.

" Oh ! " she said, " thou whom I loved, thou who
art no more, thou knowest no guilty thought ever
entered my mind ! When I saw this man, I thought
I beheld thee ; when I was happy, I thought I owed
it to thee ; it was thee whom I loved in him. Surely
thou dost not desire that by a public avowal I should
bring shame and disgrace on these children and on
myself."

She rose calm and strengthened : it seemed as if
a heavenly inspiration had marked out her duty.
To suffer in silence, such was the course she
adopted, — a life of sacrifice and self-denial which
she offered to God as an expiation for her invol-

2081

CELEBRATED CRIMES

untary sin. But who can understand the workings
of the human heart ? This man whom she ought to
have loathed, this man who had made her an inno-
cent partner in his crime, this unmasked impostor
whom she should have beheld only with disgust,
she — loved him! The force of habit, the ascendancy
he had obtained over her, the love he had shown her,
a thousand sympathies felt in her inmost heart, all
these had so much influence, that, instead of accus-
ing and cursing him, she sought to excuse him on
the plea of a passion to which, doubtless, he had
yielded when usurping the name and place of
another. She feared punishment for him yet more
than disgrace for herself, and though resolved to
no longer allow him the rights purchased by crime,
she yet trembled at the idea of losing his love. It
was this above all which decided her to keep eternal
silence about her discovery; one single word which
proved that his imposture was known would raise
an insurmountable barrier between them.

To conceal her trouble entirely was, however, be-
yond her power; her eyes frequently showed traces
of her secret tears. Martin several times asked the
cause of her sorrow; she tried to smile and excuse
herself, only immediately sinking back into her
gloomy thoughts. Martin thought it mere caprice;
he observed her loss of colour, her hollow cheeks,
and concluded that age was impairing her beauty,

2082

MARTIN GUERRE

and became less attentive to her. His absences
became longer and more frequent, and he did
not conceal his impatience and annoyance at
being watched; for her looks hung upon his,
and she observed his coldness and change with
much grief. Having sacrificed all in order to retain
his love, she now saw it slowly slipping away from
her.

Another person also observed attentively. Pierre
Guerre since his explanation with Bertrande had
apparently discovered no more evidence, and did not
dare to bring an accusation without some positive
proofs. Consequently he lost no chance of watching
the proceedings of his supposed nephew, silently
hoping that chance might put him on the track of a
discovery. He also concluded from Bertrande's
state of melancholy that she had convinced herself of
the fraud, but had resolved to conceal it.

Martin was then endeavoring to sell a part of his
property, and this necessitated frequent interviews
with the lawyers of the neighbouring town. Twice
in the week he went to Rieux, and to make the
journey easier, used to start on horseback about
seven in the evening, sleep at Rieux, and return the
following afternoon. This arrangement did not
escape his enemy's notice, who was not long in con-
vincing himself that part of the time ostensibly spent
on this journey was otherwise employed.

2083

CELEBRATED CRIMES

Towards ten o'clock on the evening of a dark
night, the door of a small house lying about half a
gunshot from the village opened gently for the exit
of a man wrapped in a large cloak, followed by a
young woman, who accompanied him some distance.
Arrived at the parting point, they separated with a
tender kiss and a few murmured words of adieu;
the lover took his horse, which was fastened to a
tree, mounted, and rode off towards Rieux. When
the sounds died away, the woman turned slowly
and sadly towards her home, but as she approached
the door a man suddenly turned the corner of the
house and barred her away. Terrified, she was on
the point of crying for help, when he seized her arm
and ordered her to be silent

" Rose," he whispered, " I know everything: that
man is your lover. In order to receive him safely,
you send your old husband to sleep by means of a
drug stolen from your father's shop. This intrigue
has been going on for a month ; tv/ice a week, at
seven o'clock, your door is opened to this man, who
does not proceed on his way to the town until ten.
I know your lover: he is my nephew."

Petrified with terror, Rose fell on her knees and
implored mercy.

" Yes," replied Pierre, " you may well be fright-
ened : I have your secret. I have only to publish it
and you are ruined for ever."

2084

MARTIN GUERRE

" You will not do it ! " entreated the guilty
woman, clasping her hands.

" I have only to tell your husband," continued
Pierre, " that his wife has dishonoured him, and to
explain the reason of his unnaturally heavy sleep."

"He will kill me!"

" No doubt : he is jealous, he is an Italian, he will
know how to avenge himself — even as I do."

" But I never did you any harm," Rose cried in
despair, " Oh ! have pity, have mercy, and spare
me!"

" On one condition."

"What is it?"

" Come with me."

Terrified almost out of her mind, Rose allowed
him to lead her away.

Bertrande had just finished her evening prayer,
and was preparing for bed, when she was startled
by several knocks at her door. Thinking that per-
haps some neighbour was in need of help, she
opened it immediately, and to her astonishment
beheld a dishevelled woman whom Pierre grasped
by the arm. He exclaimed vehemently —

"Here is thy judge! Now, confess all to Ber-
trande!"

Bertrande did not at once recognise the woman,
who fell at her feet, overcome by Pierre's threats.

" Tell the truth here," he continued, " or I go
2085

CELEBRATED CRIMES

and tell it to your husband, at your own home ! "

" Ah ! madame, kill me," said the unhappy crea-
ture, hiding her face ; " let me rather die by your
hand than his! "

Bertrande, bewildered, did not understand the
position in the least, but she recognised Rose.

" But what is the matter, madame ? Why are
you here at this hour, pale and weeping? Why has
my uncle dragged you hither? I am to judge you,
does he say? Of what crime are you guilty? "

" Martin might answer that, if he were here,*'
remarked Pierre.

A lightning flash of jealousy shot through Ber-
trande's soul at these words, all her former sus-
picions revived.

"What!" she said, "my husband! What do
you mean ? "

" That he left this woman's house only a little
while ago, that for a month they have been meeting
secretly. You are betrayed : I have seen them, and
she does not dare to deny it."

" Have mercy! " cried Rose, still kneeling.

The cry was a confession. Bertrande became
pale as death. " O God ! " she murmured, " de-
ceived, betrayed — and by him ! "

" For a month past," repeated the old man.

" Oh! the wretch," she continued, with increasing
passion ; " then his whole life is a lie ! He has abused

2086

MARTIN GUERRE

my credulity, he now abuses my love ! He does not
know me! He thinks he can trample on me — me,
in whose power are his fortune, his honour, his very
Hfe itself!"

Then, turning to Rose —

" And you, miserable woman ! by what unworthy
artifice did you gain his love? Was it by witch-
craft ? or some poisonous philtre learned from your
worthy father? "

" Alas ! no, madame ; my weakness is my only
crime, and also my only excuse. I loved him, long
ago, when I was only a young girl, and these mem-
ories have been my ruin."

" Memories ? What ! did you also think you were
loving the same man ? Are you also his dupe ? Or
are you only pretending, in order to find a rag of
excuse to cover your wickedness ? "

It was now Rose who failed to understand ; Ber-
trande continued, with growing excitement —

" Yes, it was not enough to usurp the rights of a
husband and father, he thought to play his part still
better by deceiving the mistress also. . . . Ah! it
is amusing, is it not ? You also. Rose, you thought
he was your old lover! Well, I at least am excus-
able, I the wife, who only thought she was faithful
to her husband ! "

" What does it all mean ? " asked the terrified
Rose.

2087

CELEBRATED CRIMES

"It means that this man is an impostor and that I
will unmask him. Revenge! revenge! "

Pierre came forward. " Bertrande," he said, " so
long as I thought you were happy, when I feared to
disturb your peace, I was silent, I repressed my just
indignation, and I spared the usurper of the name
and rights of my nephew. Do you now give me
leave to speak ? "

" Yes," she replied in a hollow voice.

" You will not contradict me ? "

By way of answer she sat down by the table and
wrote a few hasty lines with a trembling hand, then
gave them to Pierre, whose eyes sparkled with joy.

" Yes," he said, " vengeance for him, but for her
pity. Let this humiliation be her only punishment.
I promised silence in return for confession, will
you grant it ? "

Bertrande assented with a contemptuous gesture.

" Go, fear not," said the old man, and Rose went
out. Pierre also left the house.

Left to herself, Bertrande felt utterly worn out
by so much emotion; indignation gave way to
depression. She began to realise what she had done,
and the scandal which would fall on her own head.
Just then her baby awoke, and held out its arms,
smiling, and calling for its father. Its father, was
he not a criminal? Yes! but was it for her to ruin
him, to invoke the law, to send him to death, after

2088

MARTIN GUERRE

having taken him to her heart, to dehver him to
infamy which would recoil on her own head and
her child's and on the infant which was yet unborn?
If he had sinned before God, was it not for God to
punish him ? If against herseff, ought she not rather
to overwhelm him with contempt? But to invoke
the help of strangers to expiate this offence, to lay
bare the troubles of her life, to unveil the sanctuary
of the nuptial couch — in short, to summon the whole
world to behold this fatal scandal, was not that
what in her imprudent anger she had really done?
She repented bitterly of her haste, she sought to
avert the consequences, and notwithstanding the
night and the bad weather, she hurried at once to
Pierre's dwelling, hoping at all costs to withdraw
her denunciation. He was not there : he had at once
taken a horse and started for Rieux. Her accusa-
tion was already on its way to the magistrates !

At break of day the house where Martin Guerre
lodged when at Rieux was surrounded by soldiers.
He came forward with confidence and inquired
what was wanted. On hearing the accusation, he
changed colour slightly, then collected himself, and
made no resistance. When he came before the
judge, Bertrande's petition was read to him, de-
claring him to be " an impostor, who falsely, auda-
ciously, and treacherously had deceived her by tak-
ing the name and assuming the person of Martin
2089

CELEBRATED CRIMES

Guerre," and demanding that he should be required
to entreat pardon from God, the king, and herself.

The prisoner listened calmly to the charge, and
met it courageously, only evincing profound sur-
prise at such a step being taken by a wife who had
lived with him for two years since his return, and
who only now thought of disputing the rights he
had so long enjoyed. As he was ignorant both of
Bertrande's suspicions and their confirmation, and
also of the jealousy which had inspired her accusa-
tion, his astonishment was perfectly natural, and
did not at all appear to be assumed. He attributed
the whole charge to the machinations of his uncle,
Pierre Guerre ; an old man, he said, who, being gov-
erned entirely by avarice and the desire of revenge,
now disputed his name and rights, in order the bet-
ter to deprive him of his property, which might be
worth from sixteen to eighteen hundred livres. In
order to attain his end, this wicked man had not
hesitated to pervert his wife's mind, and at the risk
of her own dishonour had instigated this calum-
nious charge — a horrible and unheard-of thing in
the mouth of a lawful wife. " Ah! I do not blame
her," he cried; " she must suffer more than I do,-if
she really entertains doubts such as these; but I
deplore her readiness to listen to these extraor-
dinary calumnies originated by my enemy."

The judge was a good deal impressed by so much
2090

MARTIN GUERRE

assurance. The accused was relegated to prison,
whence he was brought two days later to encounter
a formal examination.

He began by explaining the cause of his long
absence, originating, he said, in a domestic quarrel,
as his wife well remembered. He then related his
life during these eight years. At first he wandered
over the country, wherever his curiosity and the
love of travel led him. He then had crossed the
frontier, revisited Biscay, where he was born, and
having entered the service of the Cardinal of Bur-
gos, he passed thence into the army of the King of
Spain. He was wounded at the battle of St. Quen-
tin, conveyed to a neighbouring village, where he
recovered, although threatened with amputation.
Anxious to again behold his wife and child, his
other relations and the land of his adoption, he
returned to Artigues, where he was immediately
recognised by everyone, including the identical
Pierre Guerre, his uncle, who now had the cruelty
to disavow him. In fact, the latter had shown him
special affection up to the day when Martin required
an account of his stewardship. Had he only had
the cowardice to sacrifice his money and thereby
defraud his children, he would not to-day be
charged as an impostor. " But," continued Mar-
tin, " I resisted, and a violent quarrel ensued, in
which anger perhaps carried me too far; Pierre

2091

CELEBRATED CRIMES

Guerre, cunning and revengeful, has waited in
silence. He has taken his time and his measures
to organise this plot, hoping thereby to obtain his
ends, to bring justice to the help of his avarice, and
to acquire the spoils he coveted, and revenge for
his defeat, by means of a sentence obtained from
the scruples of the judges." Besides these explan-
ations, which did not appear wanting in probability,
Martin vehemently protested his innocence, demand-
ing that his wife should be confronted with him,
and declaring that in his presence she would not sus-
tain the charge of personation brought against him,
and that her mind not being animated by the blind
hatred which dominated his persecutor, the truth
would undoubtedly prevail.

He now, in his turn, demanded that the judge
should acknowledge his innocence, and prove it by
condemning his calumniators to the punishment
invoked against himself; that his wife, Bertrande
de Rolls, should be secluded in some house where
her mind could no longer be perverted, and, finally,
that his innocence should be declared, and expenses
and compensations awarded him.

After this speech, delivered with warmth, and
with every token of sincerity, he answered without
difficulty all the interrogations of the judge. The
following are some of the questions and answers,
just as they have come down to us : —

2092

MARTIN GUERRE

" In what part of Biscay were you born? "

" In the village of Aymes, province of Guipus-
coa.

"What were the names of your parents?"

" Antonio Guerre and Marie Toreada,"

"Are they still living?"

"My father died June 15th, 1530; my mother
survived him three years and twelve days."

"Have you any brothers and sisters?"

" I had one brother, who only lived three months.
My four sisters, Inez, Dorothea, Marietta, and
Pedrina, all came to live at Artigues when I did;
they are there still, and they all recognised me."

" What is the date of your marriage? "

"January 10, 1539."

" Who were present at the ceremony ? "

" My father-in-law, my mother-in-law, my uncle,
my two sisters, Maitre Marcel and his daughter
Rose; a neighbour called Claude Perrin, who got
drunk at the wedding feast; also Giraud, the poet,
who composed verses in our honour."

" Who was the priest who married you ? "

"The old cure, Pascal Guerin, whom I did not
find alive when I returned."

" What special circumstances occurred on the
wedding-day? "

" At midnight exactly, our neighbour, Catherine
Boere, brought us the repast which is known as
2093

CELEBRATED CRIMES

' medianoche.' This woman has recognised me, as
also our old Marguerite, who has remained with us
ever since the wedding."

" What is the date of your son's birth ? "
"February lo, 1548, nine years after our mar-
riage. I was only twelve when the ceremony took
place, and did not arrive at manhood till several
years later."

" Give the date of your leaving Artigues."
" It was in August 1549. As I left the village, I
met Claude Perrin and the cure Pascal, and took
leave of them. I went towards Beauvais, and I
passed through Orleans, Bourges, Limoges, Bor-
deaux, and Toulouse. If you want the names of
people whom I saw and to whom I spoke, you can
have them. What more can I say? "

Never, indeed, was there a more apparently vera-
cious statement! All the doings of Martin Guerre
seemed to be most faithfully described, and surely
only himself could thus narrate his own actions.
As the historian remarks, alluding to the story of
Amphitryon, Mercury himself could not better
reproduce all Sosia's actions, gestures, and words,
than did the false Martin Guerre those of the real
one.

In accordance with the demand of the accused,
Bertrande de Rolls was detained in seclusion, in
order to remove her from the influence of Pierre

2094

MARTIN GUERRE

Guerre. The latter, however, did not waste time,
and during the month spent in examining the wit-
nesses cited by Martin, his dihgent enemy, guided
by some vague traces, departed on a journey, from
which he did not return alone.

All the witnesses bore out the statement of the
accused; the latter heard this in prison, and rejoiced,
hoping for a speedy release. Before long he was
again brought before the judge, who told him that
his deposition had been confirmed by all the wit-
nesses examined.

" Do you know of no others ? " continued the
magistrate. " Have you no relatives except those
you have mentioned ? "

" I have no others," answered the prisoner.

" Then what do you say to this man ? " said the
judge, opening a door.

An old man issued forth, who fell on the prison-
er's neck, exclaiming, " My nephew ! "

Martin trembled in every limb, but only for a
moment. Promptly recovering himself, and gazing
calmly at the newcomer, he asked coolly —

" And who may you be ? "

" What! " said the old man, " do you not know
me? Dare you deny me? — me, your mother's
brother. Carbon Barreau, the old soldier ! Me, who
dandled you on my knee in your infancy; me, who
taught you later to carry a musket; me, who met

2095

CELEBRATED CRIMES

you during the war at an inn in Picardy, when you
fled secretly. Since then I have sought you every-
where; I have spoken of you, and described your
face and person, until a worthy inhabitant of this
country offered to bring me hither, where indeed I
did not expect to find my sister's son imprisoned
and fettered as a malefactor. What is his crime,
may it please your honour ? "

" You shall hear," replied the magistrate. " Then
you identify the prisoner as your nephew? You
affirm his name to be ? "

" Arnauld du Thill, also called ' Pansette,' after
his father, Jacques Pansa. His mother was
Therese Barreau, my sister, and he was born in the
village of Sagias,"

" What have you to say ? " demanded the judge,
turning to the accused.

" Three things," replied the latter, unabashed :
" this man is either mad, or he has been suborned to
tell lies, or he is simply mistaken."

The old man was struck dumb with astonishment.
But his supposed nephew's start of terror had not
been lost upon the judge, also much impressed by
the straightforward frankness of Carbon Barreau.
He caused fresh investigations to be made, and other
inhabitants of Sagias were summoned to Rieux,
who one and all agreed in identifying the accused
as the same Arnauld du Thill who had been born

2096

MARTIN GUERRE

and had grown up under their very eyes. Several
deposed that as he grew up he had taken to evil
courses, and become an adept in theft and lying,
not fearing even to take the sacred name of God in
vain, in order to cover the untruth of his daring
assertions. From such testimony the judge natur-
ally concluded that Arnauld du Thill was quite
capable of carrying on an imposture, and that the
impudence which he displayed was natural to his
character. Moreover, he noted that the prisoner,
who averred that he was born in Biscay, knew only
a few words of the Basque language, and used these
quite wrongly. He heard later another witness
who deposed that the original Martin Guerre was
a good wrestler and skilled in the art of fence,
whereas the prisoner, having wished to try what
he could do, showed no skill whatever. Finally, a
shoemaker was interrogated, and his evidence was
not the least damning. Martin Guerre, he declared,
required twelve holes to lace his boots, and his sur-
prise had been great when he found those of the
prisoner had only nine. Considering all these
points, and the cumulative evidence, the judge of
Rieux set aside the favourable testimony, which he
concluded had been the outcome of general credul-
ity, imposed on by an extraordinary resemblance.
He gave due weight also to Bertrande's accusation,
although she had never confirmed it, and now main-

2097

CELEBRATED CRIMES

tained an obstinate silence; and he pronounced a
judgment by which Arnauld du Thill was declared
" attainted and convicted of imposture, and was
therefore condemned to be beheaded; after which
his body should be divided into four quarters, and
exposed at the four corners of the town."

This sentence, as soon as it was known, caused
much diversity of opinion in the town. The pris-
oner's enemies praised the wisdom of the judge,
and those less prejudiced condemned his decision;
as such conflicting testimony left room for doubt.
Besides, it was thought that the possession of prop-
erty and the future of the children required much
consideration, also that the most absolute certainty
was demanded before annulling a past of two whole
years, untroubled by any counter claim whatever.

The condemned man appealed from this sentence
to the Parliament of Toulouse. This court decided
that the case required more careful consideration
than had yet been given to it, and began by order-
ing Arnauld du Thill to be confronted with Pierre
Guerre and Bertrande de Rolls.

Who can say what feelings animate a man who,
already once condemned, finds himself subjected, to
a second trial? The torture scarcely ended begins
again, and Hope, though reduced to a shadow, re-
gains her sway over his imagination, which clings
to her skirts, as it were, with desperation. The

2098

MARTIN GUERRE

exhausting efforts must be recommenced; it is the
last struggle — a struggle which is more desperate in
proportion as there is less strength to maintain it.
In this case the defendant was not one of those who
are easily cast down ; he collected all his energy, all
his courage, hoping to come victoriously out of the
new combat which lay before him.

The magistrates assembled in the great hall of the
Parliament, and the prisoner appeared before them.
He had first to deal with Pierre, and confronted him
calmly, letting him speak, without showing any
emotion. He then replied with indignant re-
proaches, dwelling on Pierre's greed and avarice,
his vows of vengeance, the means employed to work
upon Bertrande, his secret manoeuvres in order to
gain his ends, and the unheard-of animosity dis-
played in hunting up accusers, witnesses, and calum-
niators. He defied Pierre to prove that he was not
Martin Guerre, his nephew, inasmuch as Pierre had
publicly acknowledged and embraced him, and his
tardy suspicions only dated from the time of their
violent quarrel. His language was so strong and
vehement, that Pierre became confused and was
unable to answer, and the encounter turned entirely
in Arnauld's favour, who seemed to overawe his
adversary from a height of injured innocence, while
the latter appeared as a disconcerted slanderer.

The scene of his confrontation with Bertrande
2099

CELEBRATED CRIMES

took a wholly different character. The poor woman,
pale, cast down, worn by sorrow, came staggering
before the tribunal, in an almost fainting condition.
She endeavoured to collect herself, but as soon as
she saw the prisoner she hung her head and cov-
ered her face with her hands. He approached her
and besought her in the gentlest accents not to per-
sist in an accusation which might send him to the
scaffold, not thus to avenge any sins he might have
committed against her, although he could not re-
proach himself with any really serious fault.

Bertrande started, and murmured in a whisper,
"And Rose?"

" Ah ! " Arnauld exclaimed, astonished at this
revelation.

His part was instantly taken. Turning to the
judges —

"Gentlemen," he said, " my wife is a jealous
woman! Ten years ago, when I left her, she had
formed these suspicions ; they were the cause of my
voluntary exile. To-day she again accuses me of
guilty relations with the same person ; I neither
deny nor acknowledge them, but I affirm that it is
the blind passion of jealousy which, aided by my
uncle's suggestions, guided my wife's hand when
she signed this denunciation."

Bertrande remained silent.

" Do you dare," he continued, turning towards

2IOO

MARTIN GUERRE

her, — " do you dare to swear before God that jeal-
ousy did not inspire you with the wish to ruin me? "

" And you," she repHed, " dare you swear that I
was deceived in my suspicions ? "

" You see, gentlemen," exclaimed the prisoner
triumphantly, "her jealousy breaks forth before
your eyes. Whether I am, or am not, guilty of the
sin she attributes to me, is not the question for you
to decide. Can you conscientiously admit the testi-
mony of a woman who, after publicly acknowledg-
ing me, after receiving me in her house, after living
two years in perfect amity with me, has, in a fit of
angry vengeance, thought she could give the lie to
all her words and actions? Ah! Bertrande," he
continued, " if it only concerned my life I think I
could forgive a madness of which your love is both
the cause and the excuse, but you are a mother, think
of that ! My punishment will recoil on the head of
my daughter, who is unhappy enough to have been
born since our reunion, and also on our unborn
child, which you condemn beforehand to curse the
union which gave it being. Think of this, Ber-
trande, you will have to answer before God for what
you are now doing! "

The unhappy woman fell on her knees, weeping.

" I adjure you," he continued solemnly, " you,
my wife, Bertrande de Rolls, to swear now, here, on
the crucifix, that I am an impostor and a cheat."

2I0I

CELEBRATED CRIMES

A crucifix was placed before Bertrande; she made
a sign as if to push it away, endeavoured to speak,
and feebly exclaimed, " No," then fell to the
ground, and was carried out insensible.

This scene considerably shook the opinion of the
magistrates. They could not believe that an impos-
tor, whatever he might be, would have sufficient
daring and presence of mind thus to turn into mock-
ery all that was most sacred. They set a new in-
quiry on foot, which, instead of producing enlight-
enment, only plunged them into still greater obscur-
ity. Out of thirty witnesses heard, more than three-
quarters agreed in identifying as Martin Guerre
the man who claimed his name. Never was greater
perplexity caused by more extraordinary appear-
ances. The remarkable resemblance upset all
reasoning: some recognised him as Arnauld du
Thill, and others asserted the exact contrary. He
could hardly understand Basque, some said, though
born in Biscay, was that astonishing, seeing he was
only three when he left the country? He could
neither wrestle nor fence well, but having no occa-
sion to practise these exercises he might well have
forgotten them. The shoemaker who made -his
shoes aforetime, thought he took another measure,
but he might have made a mistake before or be mis-
taken now. The prisoner further defended himself
by recapitulating the circumstances of his first meet-

2I02

MARTIN GUERRE

ing with Bertrande, on his return, the thousand and
one little details he had mentioned which he only
could have known, also the letters in his possession,
all of which could only be explained by the assump-
tion that he was the veritable Martin Guerre. Was it
likely that he would be wounded over the left eye and
leg as the missing man was supposed to be ? Was it
likely that the old servant, that the four sisters, his
uncle Pierre, many persons to whom he had related
facts known only to himself, that all the community
in short, would have recognised him? And even
the very intrigue suspected by Bertrande, which had
aroused her jealous anger, this very intrigue, if it
really existed, was it not another proof of the verity
of his claim, since the person concerned, as inter-
ested and as penetrating as the legitimate wife, had
also accepted him as her former lover? Surely
here was a mass of evidence sufficient to cast light
on the case. Imagine an impostor arriving for the
first time in a place where all the inhabitants are
unknown to him, and attempting to personate a
man who had dwelt there, who would have con-
nections of all kinds, who would have played his
part in a thousand different scenes, who would have
confided his secrets, his opinions, to relations,
friends, acquaintances, to all sorts of people; who
had also a wife — that is to say, a person under
whose eyes nearly his whole life would be passed, a

2103

CELEBRATED CRIMES

person would study him perpetually, with whom he
would be continually conversing on every sort of
subject. Could such an impostor sustain his imper-
sonation for a single day, without his memory play-
ing him false? From the physical and moral im-
possibility of playing such a part, was it not reason-

. able to conclude that the accused, who had main-
tained it for more than two years, was the true
Martin Guerre?

There seemed, in fact, to be nothing which could
account for such an attempt being successfully made
unless recourse was had to an accusation of sor-
cery. The idea of handing him over to the ecclesi-
astical authorities was briefly discussed, but proofs
were necessary, and the judges hesitated. It is a
principle of justice, which has become a precept in
law, that in cases of uncertainty the accused has the
benefit of the doubt; but at the period of which we
are writing, these truths were far from being ac-

« knowledged; guilt was presumed rather than inno-
cence; and torture, instituted to force confession
from those who could not otherwise be convicted,
is only explicable by supposing the judges convinced
of the actual guilt of the accused; for no one would
have thought of subjecting a possibly innocent per-
son to this suffering. However, notwithstanding
this prejudice, which has been handed down to us
by some organs of the public ministry always dis-

2104

She cried aloud, and fell hack insensible; — she recognised
her real husband !

—p. 2107
From the original illustration by Bourdet

MART IX GUERRE

posed to assume the guilt of a suspected person, —
notwithstanding this prejudice, the judges in this
case neither ventured to condemn Martin Guerre
themselves as an impostor, nor to demand the inter-
vention of the Church. In this conflict of contrary
testimony, which seemed to reveal the truth only to
immediately obscure it again, in this chaos of argu-
ments and conjectures which showed flashes of light
only to extinguish them in greater darkness, con-
sideration for the family prevailed. The sincerity
of Bertrande, the future of the children, seemed
reasons for proceeding with extreme caution, and
this once admitted, could only yield to conclusive
evidence. Consequently the Parliament adjourned
the case, matters remaining in statu quo, pending
a more exhaustive inquiry. Meanwhile, the ac-
cused, for whom several relations and friends gave
surety, was allowed to be at liberty at Artigues,
though remaining under careful surveillance.

Bertrande therefore again saw him an inmate of
the house, as if no doubts had ever been cast on the
legitimacy of their union. What thoughts passed
through her mind during the long tctc-a-tetc? She
had accused this man of imposture, and now, not-
withstanding her secret conviction, she was obliged
to appear as if she had no suspicion, as if she had
been mistaken, to humiliate herself before the im-
postor, and ask forgiveness for the insanity of her
210=;

^ iJuinaH— \ol. li — K

CELEBRATED CRIMES

conduct ; for, having publicly renounced her accusa-
tion by refusing to swear to it, she had no alterna-
tive left. In order to sustain her part and to save
the honour of her children, she must treat this man
as her husband and appear submissive and repent-
ant; she must show him entire confidence, as the
only means of rehabilitating him and lulling the
vigilance of justice. What the widow of Martin
Guerre must have suffered in this life of effort was
a secret between God and herself, but she looked at
her little daughter, she thought of her fast approach-
ing confinement, and took courage.

One evening, towards nightfall, she was sitting
near him in the most private corner of the garden,
with her little child on her knee, whilst the adven-
turer, sunk in gloomy thoughts, absently stroked
Sanxi's fair head. Both were silent, for at the bot-
tom of their hearts each knew the other's thoughts,
and, no longer able to talk familiarly, nor daring
to appear estranged, they spent, when alone to-
gether, long hours of silent dreariness.

All at once a loud uproar broke the silence of
their retreat; they heard the exclamations of many
persons, cries of surprise mixed with angry tones,
hasty footsteps, then the garden gate was flung vio-
lently open, and old Marguerite appeared, pale,
gasping, almost breathless. Bertrande hastened
towards her in astonishment, followed by her hus-

2106

MARTIN GUERRE

band, but when near enough to speak she could only
answer with inarticulate sounds, pointing with ter-
ror to the courtyard of the house. They looked in
this direction, and saw a man standing at the thresh-
old ; they approached him. He stepped forward, as
if to place himself between them. He was tall,
dark ; his clothes were torn ; he had a wooden leg ;
his countenance was stern. He surveyed Ber-
trande with a gloomy look : she cried aloud, and fell
back insensible; . . . she recognised her real hus-
band!

Arnauld du Thill stood petrified. While Mar-
guerite, distracted herself, endeavoured to revive
her mistress, the neighbours, attracted by the noise,
invaded the house, and stopped, gazing with stupe-
faction at this astonishing resemblance. The two
men had the same features, the same height, the
same bearing, and suggested one being in two per-
sons. They gazed at each other in terror, and in
that superstitious age the idea of sorcery and of
infernal intervention naturally occurred to those
present. All crossed themselves, expecting every
moment to see fire from heaven strike one or other
of the two men, or that the earth would engulf
one of them. Nothing happened, however, except
that both were promptly arrested, in order that the
strange mystery might be cleared up.

The wearer of the wooden leg, interrogated by
2107

CELEBRATED CRIMES

the judges, related that he came from Spain, where
first the healing of his wound, and then the want
of money, had detained him hitherto. He had
travelled on foot, almost a beggar. He gave ex-
actly the same reasons for leaving Artigues as had
been given by the other Martin Guerre, namely, a
domestic quarrel caused by jealous suspicion, the
desire of seeing other countries, and an adventurous
disposition. He had gone back to his birthplace,
in Biscay; thence he entered the service of the Car-
dinal of Burgos; then the cardinal's brother had
taken him to the war, and he had served with the
Spanish troops; at the battle of St. Quentin his leg
had been shattered by an arquebus ball. So far his
recital was the counterpart of the one already heard
by the judges from the other man. Now they be-
gan to differ. Martin Guerre stated that he had
been conveyed to a house by a man whose features
he did not distinguish, that he thought he was
dying, and that several hours elapsed of which he
could give no account, being probably delirious;
that he suffered later intolerable pain, and on com-
ing to himself, found that his leg had been ampu-
tated. He remained long between life and death,
but he was cared for by peasants who probably
saved his life; his recovery was very slow. He dis-
covered that in the interval between being struck
down in the battle and recovering his senses, his

2108

MARTIN GUERRE

papers had disappeared, but it was impossible to
suspect the people who had nursed him with such
generous kindness of theft. After his recovery,
being absolutely destitute, he sought to return to
France and again see his wife and child : he had
endured all sorts of privations and fatigues, and
at length, exhausted, but rejoicing at being near the
end of his troubles, he arrived, suspecting nothing,
at his own door. Then the terror of the old servant,
a few broken words, made him guess at some
misfortune, and the appearance of his wife and
of a man so exactly like himself stupefied him.
Matters had now been explained, and he only re-
gretted that his wound had not at once ended his
existence.

The whole story bore the impress of truth, but
when the other prisoner was asked what he had to
say he adhered to his first answers, maintaining
their correctness, and again asserted that he was the
real IMartin Guerre, and that the new claimant could
only be Arnauld du Thill, the clever impostor, who
was said to resemble himself so much that the inhab-
itants of Sagias had agreed in mistaking him for
the said Arnauld.

The two Martin Guerres were then confronted
without changing the situation in the least; the
first showing the same assurance, the same bold
and confident bearing; while the second, calling

2109

CELEBRATED CRIMES

on God and men to bear witness to his sincerity,
deplored his misfortune in the most pathetic
terms.

The judge's perplexity was great : the affair be-
came more and more complicated, the question re-
mained as difficult, as uncertain as ever. All the
appearances and evidences were at variance; proba-
bility seemed to incline towards one, sympathy was
more in favour of the other, but actual proof was
still wanting.

At length a member of the Parliament, M. de
Coras, proposed as a last chance before resorting
to torture, that final means of examination in a bar-
barous age, that Bertrande should be placed between
the two rivals, trusting, he said, that in such a case
a woman's instinct would divine the truth. Conse-
quently the two Martin Guerres were brought before
the Parliament, and a few moments after Bertrande
was led in, weak, pale, hardly able to stand, being
worn out by suffering and advanced pregnancy.
Her appearance excited compassion, and all watched
anxiously to see what she would do. She looked at
the two men, who had been placed at different ends
of the hall, and turning from him who was nearest
to her, went and knelt silently before the man with
the wooden leg; then, joining her hands as if pray-
ing for mercy, she wept bitterly. So simple and
touching an action roused the sympathy of all pres-

2IIO

MARTIN GUERRE

ent; Arnauld du Thill grew pale, and everyone
expected that Martin Guerre, rejoiced at being vin-
dicated by this public acknowledgment, would raise
his wife and embrace her. But he remained cold
and stern, and in a contemptuous tone —

" Dry your tears, madame," he said ; " they do
not move me in the least, neither can you seek to
excuse your credulity by the examples of my sisters
and my uncle. A wife knows her husband more
intimately than his other relations, as you prove by
your present action, and if she is deceived it is be-
cause she consents to the deception. You are the
sole cause of the misfortunes of my house, and to
you only shall I ever impute them."

Thunderstruck by this reproach, the poor woman
had no strength to reply, and was taken home more
dead than alive.

The dignified language of this injured husband
made another point in his favour. ]\Iuch pity was
felt for Bertrande, as being the victim of an auda-
cious deception ; but everybody agreed that thus it
beseemed the real Martin Guerre to have spoken.
After the ordeal gone through by the wife had been
also essayed by the sisters and other relatives, who
one and all followed Bertrande's example and ac-
cepted the new-comer, the court, having fully de-
liberated, passed the following sentence, which we
transcribe literally : —

2III

CELEBRATED CRIMES

" Having reviewed the trial of Arnauld du Thill
or Pansette, calling himself Martin Guerre, a pris-
oner in the Conciergerie, who appeals from the de-
cision of the judge of Rieux, etc.,

" We declare that this court negatives the appeal
and defence of the said Arnauld du Thill; and as
punishment and amends for the imposture, decep-
tion, assumption of name and of person, adultery,
rape, sacrilege, theft, larceny, and other deeds com-
mitted by the aforesaid du Thill, and causing the
above-mentioned trial; this court has condemned
and condemns him to do penance before the church
of Artigue, kneeling, clad in his shirt only, bare-
headed and barefoot, a halter on his neck, and a
burning torch in his hand, and there he shall ask
pardon from God, from the King, and from jus-
tice, from the said Martin Guerre and Bertrande de
Rolls, husband and wife: and this done, the afore-
said du Thill shall be delivered into the hands of
the executioners of the King's Justice, who shall
lead him through the customary streets and cross-
roads of the aforesaid place of Artigues, and, the
halter on his neck, shall bring him before the house
of the aforesaid Martin Guerre, where he shall.be
hung and strangled upon a gibbet erected for this
purpose, after which his body shall be burnt : and for
various reasons and considerations thereunto moving
the court, it has awarded and awards the goods of

2II2

MARTIN GUERRE

the aforesaid Arnauld du Thill, apart from the ex-
penses of justice, to the daughter born unto him by
the aforesaid Bertrande de Rolls, under pretence of
marriage falsely asserted by him, having thereto
assumed the name and person of the aforesaid Mar-
tin Guerre, by this means deceiving the aforesaid de
Rolls; and moreover the court has exempted and
exempts from this trial the aforesaid Martin
Guerre and Bertrande de Rolls, also the said Pierre
Guerre, uncle of the aforesaid Martin, and has
remitted and remits the aforesaid Arnauld du Thill
to the aforesaid judge of Rieux, in order that the
present sentence may be executed according to its
form and tenor. Pronounced judicially this 12th
day of September 1560."

This sentence substituted the gallows for the
decapitation decreed by the first judge, inasmuch as
the latter punishment was reserved for criminals of
noble birth, while hanging was inflicted on meaner
persons.

When once his fate was decided, Arnauld du
Thill lost all his audacity. Sent back to Artigues,
he was interrogated in prison by the judge of Rieux,
and confessed his imposture at great length. He
said the idea first occurred to him when, having
returned from the camp in Picardy, he was ad-
dressed as Martin Guerre by several intimate friends
of the latter. He then inquired as to the sort of
2113

CELEBRATED CRIMES

life, the habits and relations of this man, and hav-
ing contrived to be near him, had watched him
closely during the battle. He saw him fall, carried
him away, and then, as the reader has already seen,
excited his delirium to the utmost in order to obtain
possession of his secrets. Having thus explained
his successful imposture by natural causes, which
excluded any idea of magic or sorcery, he pro-
tested his penitence, implored the mercy of God,
and prepared himself for execution as became a
Christian.

The next day, while the populace, collecting from
the whole neighbourhood, had assembled before the
parish church of Artigues in order to behold the
penance of the criminal, who, barefoot, attired in
a shirt, and holding a lighted torch in his hand,
knelt at the entrance of the church, another scene,
no less painful, took place in the house of Martin
Guerre. Exhausted by her suffering, which had
caused a premature confinement, Bertrande lay on
her couch of pain, and besought pardon from him
whom she had innocently wronged, entreating him
also to pray for her soul. Martin Guerre, sitting at
her bedside, extended his hand and blessed her.
She took his hand and held it to her lips ; she could
no longer speak. All at once a loud noise was heard
outside: the guilty man had just been executed in
front of the house. When finally attached to the
2114

MARTIN GUERRE

gallows, he uttered a terrible cry, which was an-
swered by another from inside the house. The
same evening, while the body of the malefactor
was being consumed by fire, the remains of a
mother and child were laid to rest in consecrated
ground.

2115

UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA AT LOS ANGELES

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